THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


B    O    1.   P    U 
EDITION 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NE\V  YORK    •    HOSTON    •    CHICAGO   •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA         SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN'   &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON    •     r.OMBAV    •     CAI.CfTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  Co.  OF  CANADA,  LTD 

TORONTO 


x7 


V  '// 


HUNGRY 


BV 
RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 


T—~ 


Vontc 
THE  MACMILLAN  COM^A7<lV 

1916 
AJL1-  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 
BY  THE  MACMILLAX  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotype;!.      Published,    October,    1910. 
Bolpur  Edition,  October,  1910. 


La 


College 

abrarj 

PR 


PREFACE 


THE  stories  contained  in  this  volume  were  trans- 
lated by  several  hands.  The  version  of  The  Vic- 
tory is  the  author's  own  work.  The  seven  stories 
which  follow  it  were  translated  by  Mr.  C.  F.  An- 
drews, with  the  author's  help.  Assistance  has  also 
been  given  by  the  Rev.  E.  J.  Thompson,  Panna  Lai 
Basu,  PrabKat  Kumar  Mukerji,  and  the  Sister 
Nivedita. 


1325301 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  HUNGRY  STONES 3 

THE  VICTORY 29 

ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 43 

THE  HOME-COMING 59 

MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 73 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 91 

THE  DEVOTEE in 

VISION        135 

THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 173 

LIVING  OR  DEAD? 193 

"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 215 

THE  RENUNCIATION 241 

THE  CABULIWALLAH 257 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

MY  kinsman  and  myself  were  returning  to  Calcutta 
from  our  Puja  trip  when  we  met  the  man  in  a  train. 
From  his  dress  and  bearing  we  took  him  at  first  for 
an  up-country  Mahomedan,  but  we  were  puzzled  as 
we  heard  him  talk.  He  discoursed  upon  all  sub- 
jects so  confidently  that  you  might  think  the  Dis- 
poser of  All  Things  consulted  him  at  all  times  in  all 
that  He  did.  Hitherto  we  had  been  perfectly 
happy,  as  we  did  not  know  that  secret  and  unheard- 
of  forces  were  at  work,  that  the  Russians  had  ad- 
vanced close  to  us,  that  the  English  had  deep  and 
secret  policies,  that  confusion  among  the  native 
chiefs  had  come  to  a  head.  But  our  newly-acquired 
friend  said  with  a  sly  smile:  '  There  happen  more 
things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio,  than  are  re- 
ported in  your  newspapers."  As  we  had  never 
stirred  out  of  our  homes  before,  the  demeanour  of 
the  man  struck  us  dumb  with  wonder.  Be  the  topic 
ever  so  trivial,  he  would  quote  science,  or  comment 

3 


4  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

on  the  Fedas,  or  repeat  quatrains  from  some  Per- 
sian poet;  and  as  we  had  no  pretence  to  a  knowledge 
of  science  or  the  Fedas  or  Persian,  our  admiration 
for  him  went  on  increasing,  and  my  kinsman,  a 
theosophist,  was  firmly  convinced  that  our  fellow- 
passenger  must  have  been  supernaturally  inspired  by 
some  strange  "  magnetism  "  or  "  occult  power,"  by 
an  "  astral  body  "  or  something  of  that  kind.  He 
listened  to  the  tritest  saying  that  fell  from  the  lips 
of  our  extraordinary  companion  with  devotional 
rapture,  and  secretly  took  down  notes  of  his  con- 
versation. I  fancy  that  the  extraordinary  man  saw 
this,  and  was  a  little  pleased  with  it. 

When  the  train  reached  the  junction,  we  assem- 
bled in  the  waiting-room  for  the  connection.  It 
was  then  10  P.  M.,  and  as  the  train,  we  heard,  was 
likely  to  be  very  late,  owing  to  something  wrong  in 
the  lines,  I  spread  my  bed  on  the  table  and  was  about 
to  lie  down  for  a  comfortable  doze,  when  the  ex- 
traordinary person  deliberately  set  about  spinning 
the  following  yarn.  Of  course,  I  could  get  no  sleep 
that  night. 

When,  owing  to  a  disagreement  about  some  ques- 
tions of  administrative  policy,  I  threw  up  my  post 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  5 

at  Junagarh,  and  entered  the  service  of  the  Nizam 
of  Hyderabad,  they  appointed  me  at  once,  as  a 
strong  young  man,  collector  of  cotton  duties  at 
Barich. 

Barich  is  a  lovely  place.  The  Susta  "  chatters 
over  stony  ways  and  babbles  on  the  pebbles,"  trip- 
ping, like  a  skilful  dancing  girl,  in  through  the  woods 
below  the  lonely  hills.  A  flight  of  150  steps  rises 
from  the  river,  and  above  that  flight,  on  the  river's 
brim  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  there  stands  a  soli- 
tary marble  palace.  Around  it  there  is  no  habita- 
tion of  man  —  the  village  and  the  cotton  mart  of 
Barich  being  far  off. 

About  250  years  ago  the  Emperor  Mahmud 
Shah  II.  had  built  this  lonely  palace  for  his  pleasure 
and  luxury.  In  his  days  jets  of  rose-water  spurted 
from  its  fountains,  and  on  the  cold  marble  floors 
of  its  spray-cooled  rooms  young  Persian  damsels 
would  sit,  their  hair  dishevelled  before  bathing, 
and,  splashing  their  soft  naked  feet  in  the  clear  wa- 
ter of  the  reservoirs,  would  sing,  to  the  tune  of  the 
guitar,  the  ghazals  of  their  vineyards. 

The  fountains  play  no  longer;  the  songs  have 
ceased;  no  longer  do  snow-white  feet  step  grace- 
fully on  the  snowy  marble.  It  is  but  the  vast  and 


6  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

solitary  quarters  of  cess-collectors  like  us,  men  op- 
pressed with  solitude  and  deprived  of  the  society 
of  women.  Now,  Karim  Khan,  the  old  clerk  of  my 
office,  warned  me  repeatedly  not  to  take  up  my 
abode  there.  "  Pass  the  day  there,  if  you  like," 
said  he,  "  but  never  stay  the  night."  I  passed  it  off 
with  a  light  laugh.  The  servants  said  that  they 
would  work  till  dark,  and  go  away  at  night.  I  gave 
my  ready  assent.  The  house  had  such  a  bad  name 
that  even  thieves  would  not  venture  near  it  after 
dark. 

At  first  the  solitude  of  the  deserted  palace  weighed 
upon  me  like  a  nightmare.  I  would  stay  out,  and 
work  hard  as  long  as  possible,  then  return  home  at 
night  jaded  and  tired,  go  to  bed  and  fall  asleep. 

Before  a  week  had  passed,  the  place  began  to  exert 
a  weird  fascination  upon  me.  It  is  difficult  to 
describe  or  to  induce  people  to  believe;  but  I  felt 
as  if  the  whole  house  was  like  a  living  organism 
slowly  and  imperceptibly  digesting  me  by  the  action 
of  some  stupefying  gastric  juice. 

Perhaps  the  process  had  begun  as  soon  as  I  set 
my  foot  in  the  house,  but  I  distinctly  remember  the 
day  on  which  I  first  was  conscious  of  it. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  summer,  and  the  market 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  7 

being  dull  I  had  no  work  to  do.  A  little  before 
sunset  I  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  water's 
edge  below  the  steps.  The  Susta  had  shrunk  and 
sunk  low;  a  broad  patch  of  sand  on  the  other  side 
glowed  with  the  hues  of  evening;  on  this  side  the 
pebbles  at  the  bottom  of  the  clear  shallow  waters 
were  glistening.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind 
anywhere,  and  the  still  air  was  laden  with  an  op- 
pressive scent  from  the  spicy  shrubs  growing  on  the 
hills  close  by. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hill-tops  a  long  dark 
curtain  fell  upon  the  stage  of  day,  and  the  inter- 
vening hills  cut  short  the  time  in  which  light  and 
shade  mingle  at  sunset.  I  thought  of  going  out  for 
a  ride,  and  was  about  to  get  up  when  I  heard  a  foot- 
fall on  the  steps  behind.  I  looked  back,  but  there 
was  no  one. 

As  I  sat  down  again,  thinking  it  to  be  an  illusion,  I 
heard  many  footfalls,  as  if  a  large  number  of  persons 
were  rushing  down  the  steps.  A  strange  thrill  of 
delight,  slightly  tinged  with  fear,  passed  through 
my  frame,  and  though  there  was  not  a  figure  before 
my  eyes,  methought  I  saw  a  bevy  of  joyous  maidens 
coming  down  the  steps  to  bathe  in  the  Susta  in 
that  summer  evening.  Not  a  sound  was  in  the 


8  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

valley,  in  the  river,  or  in  the  palace,  to  break  the 
silence,  but  I  distinctly  heard  the  maidens'  gay  and 
mirthful  laugh,  like  the  gurgle  of  a  spring  gushing 
forth  in  a  hundred  cascades,  as  they  ran  past  me, 
in  quick  playful  pursuit  of  each  other,  towards  the 
river,  without  noticing  me  at  all.  As  they  were  in- 
visible to  me,  so  I  was,  as  it  were,  invisible  to  them. 
The  river  was  perfectly  calm,  but  I  felt  that  its  still, 
shallow,  and  clear  waters  were  stirred  suddenly  by 
the  splash  of  many  an  arm  jingling  with  bracelets, 
that  the  girls  laughed  and  dashed  and  spattered 
water  at  one  another,  that  the  feet  of  the  fair  swim- 
mers tossed  the  tiny  waves  up  in  showers  of  pearl. 
I  felt  a  thrill  at  my  heart  —  I  cannot  say  whether 
the  excitement  was  due  to  fear  or  delight  or  curios- 
ity. I  had  a  strong  desire  to  see  them  more  clearly, 
but  naught  was  visible  before  me;  I  thought  I  could 
catch  all  that  they  said  if  I  only  strained  my  ears; 
but  however  hard  I  strained  them,  I  heard  nothing 
but  the  chirping  of  the  cicadas  in  the  woods.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  dark  curtain  of  250  years  was  hang- 
ing before  me,  and  I  would  fain  lift  a  corner  of  it 
tremblingly  and  peer  through,  though  the  assembly 
on  the  other  side  was  completely  enveloped  in  dark- 
ness. 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  9 

The  oppressive  closeness  of  the  evening  was 
broken  by  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  and  the  still  sur- 
face of  the  Susta  rippled  and  curled  like  the  hair 
of  a  nymph,  and  from  the  woods  wrapt  in  the  eve- 
ning gloom  there  came  forth  a  simultaneous  mur- 
mur, as  though  they  were  awakening  from  a  black 
dream.  Call  it  reality  or  dream,  the  momentary 
glimpse  of  that  invisible  mirage  reflected  from  a 
far-off  world,  250  years  old,  vanished  in  a  flash. 
The  mystic  forms  that  brushed  past  me  with  their 
quick  unbodied  steps,  and  loud,  voiceless  laughter, 
and  threw  themselves  into  the  river,  did  not  go 
back  wringing  their  dripping  robes  as  they  went. 
Like  fragrance  wafted  away  by  the  wind  they  were 
dispersed  by  a  single  breath  of  the  spring. 

Then  I  was  filled  with  a  lively  fear  that  it  was 
the  Muse  that  had  taken  advantage  of  my  solitude 
and  possessed  me  —  the  witch  had  evidently  come 
to  ruin  a  poor  devil  like  myself  making  a  living  by 
collecting  cotton  duties.  I  decided  to  have  a  good 
dinner  —  it  is  the  empty  stomach  that  all  sorts  of 
incurable  diseases  find  an  easy  prey.  I  sent  for  my 
cook  and  gave  orders  for  a  rich,  sumptuous  moghlai 
dinner,  redolent  of  spices  and  ghi. 

Next  morning  the  whole  affair  appeared  a  queer 


io  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

fantasy.  With  a  light  heart  I  put  on  a  sola  hat  like 
the  sahebs,  and  drove  out  to  my  work.  I  was  to 
have  written  my  quarterly  report  that  day,  and  ex- 
pected to  return  late;  but  before  it  was  dark  I  was 
strangely  drawn  to  my  house  —  by  what  I  could  not 
say  —  I  felt  they  were  all  waiting,  and  that  I  should 
delay  no  longer.  Leaving  my  report  unfinished  I 
rose,  put  on  my  sola  hat,  and  startling  the  dark, 
shady,  desolate  path  with  the  rattle  of  my  carriage, 
I  reached  the  vast  silent  palace  standing  on  the 
gloomy  skirts  of  the  hills. 

On  the  first  floor  the  stairs  led  to  a  very  spacious 
hall,  its  roof  stretching  wide  over  ornamental  arches 
resting  on  three  rows  of  massive  pillars,  and  groan- 
ing day  and  night  under  the  weight  of  its  own  intense 
solitude.  The  day  had  just  closed,  and  the  lamps 
had  not  yet  been  lighted.  As  I  pushed  the  door 
open  a  great  bustle  seemed  to  follow  within,  as  if 
a  throng  of  people  had  broken  up  in  confusion,  and 
rushed  out  through  the  doors  and  windows  and  cor- 
ridors and  verandas  and  rooms,  to  make  its  hurried 
escape. 

As  I  saw  no  one  I  stood  bewildered,  my  hair 
on  end  in  a  kind  of  ecstatic  delight,  and  a  faint 
scent  of  attar  and  unguents  almost  effaced  by  age 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  n 

lingered  in  my  nostrils.  Standing  in  the  darkness 
of  that  vast  desolate  hall  between  the  rows  of  those 
ancient  pillars,  I  could  hear  the  gurgle  of  fountains 
plashing  on  the  marble  floor,  a  strange  tune  on 
the  guitar,  the  jingle  of  ornaments  and  the  tinkle 
of  anklets,  the  clang  of  bells  tolling  the  hours,  the 
distant  note  of  nahcbat,  the  din  of  the  crystal  pen- 
dants of  chandeliers  shaken  by  the  breeze,  the  song 
of  bulbuls  from  the  cages  in  the  corridors,  the  cackle 
of  storks  in  the  gardens,  all  creating  round  me  a 
strange  unearthly  music. 

Then  I  came  under  such  a  spell  that  this  intangible, 
inaccessible,  unearthly  vision  appeared  to  be  the  only 
reality  in  the  world  —  and  all  else  a  mere  dream. 
That  I,  that  is  to  say,  Srijut  So-and-so,  the  eldest 
son  of  So-and-so  of  blessed  memory,  should  be  draw- 
ing a  monthly  salary  of  Rs.  450  by  the  discharge  of 
my  duties  as  collector  of  cotton  duties,  and  driving 
in  my  dog-cart  to  my  office  every  day  in  a  short  coat 
and  sola  hat,  appeared  to  me  to  be  such  an  astonish- 
ingly ludicrous  illusion  that  I  burst  into  a  horse-laugh, 
as  I  stood  in  the  gloom  of  that  vast  silent  hall. 

At  that  moment  my  servant  entered  with  a  lighted 
kerosene  lamp  in  his  hand.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  thought  me  mad,  but  it  came  back  to  me  at  once 


12  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

that  I  was  in  very  deed  Srijut  So-and-so,  son  of  So- 
and-so  of  blessed  memory,  and  that,  while  our  poets, 
great  and  small,  alone  could  say  whether  inside  or 
outside  the  earth  there  was  a  region  where  unseen 
fountains  perpetually  played  and  fairy  guitars,  struck 
by  invisible  fingers,  sent  forth  an  eternal  harmony, 
this  at  any  rate  was  certain,  that  I  collected  duties 
at  the  cotton  market  at  Barich,  and  earned  thereby 
Rs.  450  per  mensem  as  my  salary.  I  laughed  in 
great  glee  at  my  curious  illusion,  as  I  sat  over  the 
newspaper  at  my  camp-table,  lighted  by  the  kero- 
sene lamp. 

After  I  had  finished  my  paper  and  eaten  my 
moghlai  dinner,  I  put  out  the  lamp,  and  lay  down 
on  my  bed  in  a  small  side-room.  Through  the  open 
window  a  radiant  star,  high  above  the  Avalli  hills 
skirted  by  the  darkness  of  their  woods,  was  gazing 
intently  from  millions  and  millions  of  miles  away  in 
the  sky  at  Mr.  Collector  lying  on  a  humble  camp- 
bedstead.  I  wondered  and  felt  amused  at  the  idea, 
and  do  not  know  when  I  fell  asleep  or  how  long 
I  slept;  but  I  suddenly  awoke  with  a  start,  though  I 
heard  no  sound  and  saw  no  intruder  —  only  the 
steady  bright  star  on  the  hilltop  had  set,  and  the 
dim  light  of  the  new  moon  was  stealthily  entering 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  13 

the  room  through  the  open  window,  as  if  ashamed 
of  its  intrusion. 

I  saw  nobody,  but  felt  as  if  some  one  was  gently 
pushing  me.  As  I  awoke  she  said  not  a  word,  but 
beckoned  me  with  her  five  fingers  bedecked  with 
rings  to  follow  her  cautiously.  I  got  up  noiselessly, 
and,  though  not  a  soul  save  myself  was  there  in  the 
countless  apartments  of  that  deserted  palace  with 
its  slumbering  sounds  and  waking  echoes,  I  feared 
at  every  step  lest  any  one  should  wake  up.  Most 
of  the  rooms  of  the  palace  were  always  kept  closed, 
and  I  had  never  entered  them. 

I  followed  breathless  and  with  silent  steps  my  in- 
visible guide  —  I  cannot  now  say  where.  What 
endless  dark  and  narrow  passages,  what  long  cor- 
ridors, what  silent  and  solemn  audience-chambers 
and  close  secret  cells  I  crossed! 

Though  I  could  not  see  my  fair  guide,  her  form 
was  not  invisible  to  my  mind's  eye, —  an  Arab  girl, 
her  arms,  hard  and  smooth  as  marble,  visible  through 
her  loose  sleeves,  a  thin  veil  falling  on  her  face  from 
the  fringe  of  her  cap,  and  a  curved  dagger  at  her 
waist!  Methought  that  one  of  the  thousand  and 
one  Arabian  Nights  had  been  wafted  to  me  from 
the  world  of  romance,  and  that  at  the  dead  of  night 


i4  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

I  was  wending  my  way  through  the  dark  narrow 
alleys  of  slumbering  Bagdad  to  a  trysting-place 
fraught  with  peril. 

At  last  my  fair  guide  stopped  abruptly  before  a 
deep  blue  screen,  and  seemed  to  point  to  something 
below.  There  was  nothing  there,  but  a  sudden 
dread  froze  the  blood  in  my  heart  —  methought  I 
saw  there  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of  the  screen  a 
terrible  negro  eunuch  dressed  in  rich  brocade,  sitting 
and  dozing  with  outstretched  legs,  with  a  naked 
sword  on  his  lap.  My  fair  guide  lightly  tripped 
over  his  legs  and  held  up  a  fringe  of  the  screen.  I 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  part  of  the  room  spread 
with  a  Persian  carpet  —  some  one  was  sitting  inside 
on  a  bed  —  I  could  not  see  her,  but  only  caught  a 
glimpse  of  two  exquisite  feet  in  gold-embroidered 
slippers,  hanging  out  from  loose  saffron-coloured 
paijamas  and  placed  idly  on  the  orange-coloured 
velvet  carpet.  On  one  side  there  was  a  bluish 
crystal  tray  on  which  a  few  apples,  pears,  oranges, 
and  bunches  of  grapes  in  plenty,  two  small  cups  and 
a  gold-tinted  decanter  were  evidently  awaiting  the 
guest.  A  fragrant  intoxicating  vapour,  issuing 
from  a  strange  sort  of  incense  that  burned  within, 
almost  overpowered  my  senses. 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  15 

As  with  trembling  heart  I  made  an  attempt  to 
step  across  the  outstretched  legs  of  the  eunuch,  he 
woke  up  suddenly  with  a  start,  and  the  sword  fell 
from  his  lap  with  a  sharp  clang  on  the  marble  floor. 

A  terrific  scream  made  me  jump,  and  I  saw  I  was 
sitting  on  that  camp-bedstead  of  mine  sweating 
heavily;  and  the  crescent  moon  looked  pale  in  the 
morning  light  like  a  weary  sleepless  patient  at  dawn; 
and  our  crazy  Meher  Ali  was  crying  out,  as  is  his 
daily  custom,  "Stand  back!  Stand  back!!"  while 
he  went  along  the  lonely  road. 

Such  was  the  abrupt  close  of  one  of  my  Arabian 
Nights;  but  there  were  yet  a  thousand  nights  left. 

Then  followed  a  great  discord  between  my  days 
and  nights.  During  the  day  I  would  go  to  my  work 
worn  and  tired,  cursing  the  bewitching  night  and  her 
empty  dreams,  but  as  night  came  my  daily  life  with 
its  bonds  and  shackles  of  work  would  appear  a  petty, 
false,  ludicrous  vanity. 

After  nightfall  I  was  caught  and  overwhelmed  in 
the  snare  of  a  strange  intoxication.  I  would  then 
be  transformed  into  some  unknown  personage  of 
a  bygone  age,  playing  my  part  in  unwritten  history; 
and  my  short  English  coat  and  tight  breeches  did 
not  suit  me  in  the  least.  With  a  red  velvet  cap  on 


1 6  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

my  head,  loose  pai jamas,  an  embroidered  vest,  a 
long  flowing  silk  gown,  and  coloured  handkerchiefs 
scented  with  attar,  I  would  complete  my  elaborate 
toilet,  sit  on  a  high-cushioned  chair,  and  replace  my 
cigarette  with  a  many-coiled  narghileh  filled  with 
rose-water,  as  if  in  eager  expectation  of  a  strange 
meeting  with  the  beloved  one. 

I  have  no  power  to  describe  the  marvellous  in- 
cidents that  unfolded  themselves,  as  the  gloom  of 
the  night  deepened.  I  felt  as  if  in  the  curious  apart- 
ments of  that  vast  edifice  the  fragments  of  a  beau- 
tiful story,  which  I  could  follow  for  some  distance, 
but  of  which  I  could  never  see  the  end,  flew  about 
in  a  sudden  gust  of  the  vernal  breeze.  And  all  the 
same  I  would  wander  from  room  to  room  in  pursuit 
of  them  the  whole  night  long. 

Amid  the  eddy  of  these  dream-fragments,  amid 
the  smell  of  henna  and  the  twanging  of  the  guitar, 
amid  the  waves  of  air  charged  with  fragrant  spray, 
I  would  catch  like  a  flash  of  lightning  the  momentary 
glimpse  of  a  fair  damsel.  She  it  was  who  had  saf- 
fron-coloured paijamas,  white  ruddy  soft  feet  in  gold- 
embroidered  slippers  with  curved  toes,  a  close-fitting 
bodice  wrought  with  gold,  a  red  cap,  from  which 
a  golden  frill  fell  on  her  snowy  brow  and  cheeks. 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  17 

She  had  maddened  me.  In  pursuit  of  her  I  wan- 
dered from  room  to  room,  from  path  to  path  among 
the  bewildering  maze  of  alleys  in  the  enchanted 
dreamland  of  the  nether  world  of  sleep. 

Sometimes  in  the  evening,  while  arraying  myself 
carefully  as  a  prince  of  the  blood-royal  before  a 
large  mirror,  with  a  candle  burning  on  either  side, 
I  would  see  a  sudden  reflection  of  the  Persian  beauty 
by  the  side  of  my  own.  A  swift  turn  of  her  neck, 
a  quick  eager  glance  of  intense  passion  and  pain 
glowing  in  her  large  dark  eyes,  just  a  suspicion  of 
speech  on  her  dainty  red  lips,  her  figure,  fair  and 
slim,  crowned  with  youth  like  a  blossoming  creeper, 
quickly  uplifted  in  her  graceful  tilting  gait,  a  daz- 
zling flash  of  pain  and  craving  and  esctasy,  a  smile 
and  a  glance  and  a  blaze  of  jewels  and  silk,  and  she 
melted  away.  A  wild  gust  of  wind,  laden  with  all 
the  fragrance  of  hills  and  woods,  would  put  out  my 
light,  and  I  would  fling  aside  my  dress  and  lie  down 
on  my  bed,  my  eyes  closed  and  my  body  thrilling  with 
delight,  and  there  around  me  in  the  breeze,  amid  all 
the  perfume  of  the  woods  and  hills,  floated  through 
the  silent  gloom  many  a  caress  and  many  a  kiss  and 
many  a  tender  touch  of  hands,  and  gentle  murmurs 
in  my  ears,  and  fragrant  breaths  on  my  brow;  or  a 


1 8  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

sweetly-perfumed  kerchief  was  wafted  again  and 
again  on  my  cheeks.  Then  slowly  a  mysterious  ser- 
pent would  twist  her  stupefying  coils  about  me;  and 
heaving  a  heavy  sigh,  I  would  lapse  into  insensibility, 
and  then  into  a  profound  slumber. 

One  evening  I  decided  to  go  out  on  my  horse 
—  I  do  not  know  who  implored  me  to  stay  —  but 
I  would  listen  to  no  entreaties  that  day.  My  Eng- 
lish hat  and  coat  were  resting  on  a  rack,  and  I  was 
about  to  take  them  down  when  a  sudden  whirlwind, 
crested  with  the  sands  of  the  Susta  and  the  dead 
leaves  of  the  Avalli  hills,  caught  them  up,  and 
whirled  them  round  and  round,  while  a  loud  peal  of 
merry  laughter  rose  higher  and  higher,  striking  all 
the  chords  of  mirth  till  it  died  away  in  the  land  of 
sunset. 

I  could  not  go  out  for  my  ride,  and  the  next  day 
I  gave  up  my  queer  English  coat  and  hat  for  good. 

That  day  again  at  dead  of  night  I  heard  the  stifled 
heart-breaking  sobs  of  some  one  —  as  if  below  the 
bed,  below  the  floor,  below  the  stony  foundation  of 
that  gigantic  palace,  from  the  depths  of  a  dark  damp 
grave,  a  voice  piteously  cried  and  implored  me : 
"  Oh,  rescue  me !  Break  through  these  doors  of 
hard  illusion,  deathlike  slumber  and  fruitless  dreams, 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  19 

place  me  by  your  side  on  the  saddle,  press  me  to  your 
heart,  and,  riding  through  hills  and  woods  and  across 
the  river,  take  me  to  the  warm  radiance  of  your 
sunny  rooms  above !  " 

Who  am  I?  Oh,  how  can  I  rescue  thee?  What 
drowning  beauty,  what  incarnate  passion  shall  I  drag 
to  the  shore  from  this  wild  eddy  of  dreams?  O 
lovely  ethereal  apparition!  Where  didst  thou  flour- 
ish and  when?  By  what  cool  spring,  under  the  shade 
of  what  date-groves,  wast  thou  born  —  in  the  lap 
of  what  homeless  wanderer  in  the  desert?  What 
Bedouin  snatched  thee  from  thy  mother's  arms,  an 
opening  bud  plucked  from  a  wild  creeper,  placed  thee 
on  a  horse  swift  as  lightning,  crossed  the  burning 
sands,  and  took  thee  to  the  slave-market  of  what 
royal  city?  And  there,  what  officer  of  the  Badshah, 
seeing  the  glory  of  thy  bashful  blossoming  youth, 
paid  for  thee  in  gold,  placed  thee  in  a  golden  palan- 
quin, and  offered  thee  as  a  present  for  the  seraglio 
of  his  master?  And  O,  the  history  of  that  place! 
The  music  of  the  sarcng?  the  jingle  of  anklets,  the 
occasional  flash  of  daggers  and  the  glowing  wine  of 
Shiraz  poison,  and  the  piercing  flashing  glance! 
What  infinite  grandeur,  what  endless  servitude! 

1  A  sort  of  violin. 


20  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

The  slave-girls  to  thy  right  and  left  waved  the 
chamar,1  as  diamonds  flashed  from  their  bracelets; 
the  Badshah,  the  king  of  kings,  fell  on  his  knees  at 
thy  snowy  feet  in  bejewelled  shoes,  and  outside  the 
terrible  Abyssinian  eunuch,  looking  like  a  messenger 
of  death,  but  clothed  like  an  angel,  stood  with  a 
naked  sword  in  his  hand !  Then,  O,  thou  flower  of 
the  desert,  swept  away  by  the  blood-stained  dazzling 
ocean  of  grandeur,  with  its  foam  of  jealousy,  its 
rocks  and  shoals  of  intrigue,  on  what  shore  of  cruel 
death  wast  thou  cast,  or  in  what  other  land  more 
splendid  and  more  cruel? 

Suddenly  at  this  moment  that  crazy  Meher  Ali 
screamed  out:  "Stand  back!  Stand  back!!  All 
is  false !  All  is  false !  I  "  I  opened  my  eyes  and 
saw  that  it  was  already  light.  My  chaprasi  came 
and  handed  me  my  letters,  and  the  cook  waited  with 
a  salam  for  my  orders. 

I  said:  "  No,  I  can  stay  here  no  longer."  That 
very  day  I  packed  up,  and  moved  to  my  office.  Old 
Karim  Khan  smiled  a  little  as  he  saw  me.  I  felt 
nettled,  but  said  nothing,  and  fell  to  my  work. 

As  evening  approached  I  grew  absent-minded;  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  an  appointment  to  keep;  and  the 

1  Chamar:  chowrie,  yak-tail. 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  21 

work  of  examining  the  cotton  accounts  seemed 
wholly  useless;  even  the  Nizamat1  of  the  Nizam 
did  not  appear  to  be  of  much  worth.  Whatever 
belonged  to  the  present,  whatever  was  moving  and 
acting  and  working  for  bread  seemed  trivial,  mean- 
ingless, and  contemptible. 

I  threw  my  pen  down,  closed  my  ledgers,  got  into 
my  dog-cart,  and  drove  away.  I  noticed  that  it 
stopped  of  itself  at  the  gate  of  the  marble  palace 
just  at  the  hour  of  twilight.  With  quick  steps  I 
climbed  the  stairs,  and  entered  the  room. 

A  heavy  silence  was  reigning  within.  The  dark 
rooms  were  looking  sullen  as  if  they  had  taken  of- 
fence. My  heart  was  full  of  contrition,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  whom  I  could  lay  it  bare,  or  of  whom 
I  could  ask  forgiveness.  I  wandered  about  the  dark 
rooms  with  a  vacant  mind.  I  wished  I  had  a  guitar 
to  which  I  could  sing  to  the  unknown:  "  O  fire,  the 
poor  moth  that  made  a  vain  effort  to  fly  away  has 
come  back  to  thee !  Forgive  it  but  this  once,  burn 
its  wings  and  consume  it  in  thy  flame !  " 

Suddenly  two  tear-drops  fell  from  overhead  on 
my  brow.  Dark  masses  of  clouds  overcast  the  top 
of  the  Avalli  hills  that  day.  The  gloomy  woods  and 

1  Royalty. 


22  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

the  sooty  waters  of  the  Susta  were  waiting  in  ter- 
rible suspense  and  in  an  ominous  calm.  Suddenly 
land,  water,  and  sky  shivered,  and  a  wild  tempest- 
blast  rushed  howling  through  the  distant  pathless 
woods,  showing  its  lightning-teeth  like  a  raving  ma- 
niac who  had  broken  his  chains.  The  desolate  halls 
of  the  palace  banged  their  doors,  and  moaned  in  the 
bitterness  of  anguish. 

The  servants  were  all  in  the  office,  and  there  was 
no  one  to  light  the  lamps.  The  night  was  cloudy 
and  moonless.  In  the  dense  gloom  within  I  could 
distinctly  feel  that  a  woman  was  lying  on  her  face 
on  the  carpet  below  the  bed  —  clasping  and  tearing 
her  long  dishevelled  hair  with  desperate  fingers. 
Blood  was  trickling  down  her  fair  brow,  and  she  was 
now  laughing  a  hard,  harsh,  mirthless  laugh,  now 
bursting  into  violent  wringing  sobs,  now  rending  her 
bodice  and  striking  at  her  bare  bosom,  as  the  wind 
roared  in  through  the  open  window,  and  the  rain 
poured  in  torrents  and  soaked  her  through  and 
through. 

All  night  there  was  no  cessation  of  the  storm 
or  of  the  passionate  cry.  I  wandered  from  room  to 
room  in  the  dark,  with  unavailing  sorrow.  Whom 
could  I  console  when  no  one  was  by?  Whose  was 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  23 

this  intense  agony  of  sorrow?  Whence  arose  this 
inconsolable  grief? 

And  the  mad  man  cried  out:  "Stand  back! 
Stand  back ! !  All  is  false !  All  is  false  I !  " 

I  saw  that  the  day  had  dawned,  and  Meher  All 
was  going  round  and  round  the  palace  with  his  usual 
cry  in  that  dreadful  weather.  Suddenly  it  came  to 
me  that  perhaps  he  also  had  once  lived  in  that  house, 
and  that,  though  he  had  gone  mad,  he  came  there 
every  day,  and  went  round  and  round,  fascinated 
by  the  weird  spell  cast  by  the  marble  demon. 

Despite  the  storm  and  rain  I  ran  to  him  and 
asked:  "  Ho,  Meher  Ali,  what  is  false?  " 

The  man  answered  nothing,  but  pushing  me  aside 
went  round  and  round  with  his  frantic  cry,  like  a 
bird  flying  fascinated  about  the  jaws  of  a  snake,  and 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  warn  himself  by  repeat- 
ing: "Stand  back!  Stand  back!!  All  is  false! 
All  is  false  ! !  " 

I  ran  like  a  mad  man  through  the  pelting  rain 
to  my  office,  and  asked  Karim  Khan:  "  Tell  me  the 
meaning  of  all  this!  " 

What  I  gathered  from  that  old  man  was  this : 
That  at  one  time  countless  unrequited  passions  and 
unsatisfied  longings  and  lurid  flames  of  wild  blaz- 


24  THE  HUNGRY  STONES 

ing  pleasure  raged  within  that  palace,  and  that  the 
curse  of  all  the  heart-aches  and  blasted  hopes  had 
made  its  every  stone  thirsty  and  hungry,  eager  to 
swallow  up  like  a  famished  ogress  any  living  man 
who  might  chance  to  approach.  Not  one  of  those 
who  lived  there  for  three  consecutive  nights  could 
escape  these  cruel  jaws,  save  Meher  All,  who  had 
escaped  at  the  cost  of  his  reason. 

I  asked:  "Is  there  no  means  whatever  of  my 
release?"  The  old  man  said:  "There  is  only 
one  means,  and  that  is  very  difficult.  I  will  tell  you 
what  it  is,  but  first  you  must  hear  the  history  of  a 
young  Persian  girl  who  once  lived  in  that  pleasure- 
dome.  A  stranger  or  a  more  bitterly  heart-rending 
tragedy  was  never  enacted  on  this  earth." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  coolies  announced  that  the 
train  was  coming.  So  soon?  We  hurriedly  packed 
up  our  luggage,  as  the  train  steamed  in.  An  Eng- 
lish gentleman,  apparently  just  aroused  from 
slumber,  was  looking  out  of  a  first-class  carriage 
endeavouring  to  read  the  name  of  the  station.  As 
soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  our  fellow-passenger,  he 
cried,  "  Hallo,"  and  took  him  into  his  own  com- 
partment. As  we  got  into  a  second-class  carriage, 


THE  HUNGRY  STONES  25 

we  had  no  chance  of  finding  out  who  the  man  was  nor 
what  was  the  end  of  his  story. 

I  said:  "The  man  evidently  took  us  for  fools 
and  imposed  upon  us  out  of  fun.  The  story  is  pure 
fabrication  from  start  to  finish."  The  discussion 
that  followed  ended  in  a  lifelong  rupture  between  my 
theosophist  kinsman  and  myself. 


THE  VICTORY 


THE  VICTORY 

SHE  was  the  Princess  Ajita.  And  the  court  poet 
of  King  Narayan  had  never  seen  her.  On  the  day 
he  recited  a  new  poem  to  the  king  he  would  raise 
his  voice  just  to  that  pitch  which  could  be  heard  by 
unseen  hearers  in  the  screened  balcony  high  above 
the  hall.  He  sent  up  his  song  towards  the  star-land 
out  of  his  reach,  where,  circled  with  light,  the  planet 
who  ruled  his  destiny  shone  unknown  and  out  of 
ken. 

He  would  espy  some  shadow  moving  behind  the 
veil.  A  tinkling  sound  would  come  to  his  ear  from 
afar,  and  would  set  him  dreaming  of  the  ankles 
whose  tiny  golden  bells  sang  at  each  step.  Ah,  the 
rosy  red  tender  feet  that  walked  the  dust  of  the 
earth  like  God's  mercy  on  the  fallen !  The  poet  had 
placed  them  on  the  altar  of  his  heart,  where  he  wove 
his  songs  to  the  tune  of  those  golden  bells.  Doubt 
never  arose  in  his  mind  as  to  whose  shadow  it  was 

that  moved  behind  the  screen,   and  whose  anklets 

29 


30  THE  VICTORY 

they  were  that  sang  to  the  time  of  his  beating  heart. 

Manjari,  the  maid  of  the  princess,  passed  by  the 
poet's  house  on  her  way  to  the  river,  and  she  never 
missed  a  day  to  have  a  few  words  with  him  on  the 
sly.  When  she  found  the  road  deserted,  and  the 
shadow  of  dusk  on  the  land,  she  would  boldly  enter 
his  room,  and  sit  at  the  corner  of  his  carpet.  There 
was  a  suspicion  of  an  added  care  in  the  choice  of  the 
colour  of  her  veil,  in  the  setting  of  the  flower  in  her 
hair. 

People  smiled  and  whispered  at  this,  and  they 
were  not  to  blame.  For  Shekhar  the  poet  never 
took  the  trouble  to  hide  the  fact  that  these  meet- 
ings were  a  pure  joy  to  him. 

The  meaning  of  her  name  was  the  spray  of 
flowers.  One  must  confess  that  for  an  ordinary 
mortal  it  was  sufficient  in  its  sweetness.  But  Shek- 
har made  his  own  addition  to  this  name,  and  called 
her  the  Spray  of  Spring  Flowers.  And  ordinary 
mortals  shook  their  heads  and  said,  Ah,  me ! 

In  the  spring  songs  that  the  poet  sang  the  praise 
of  the  spray  of  spring  flowers  was  conspicuously 
reiterated;  and  the  king  winked  and  smiled  at  him 
when  he  heard  it,  and  the  poet  smiled  in  answer. 

The  king  would  put  him  the  question:     "Is  it 


THE  VICTORY  31 

the  business  of  the  bee  merely  to  hum  in  the  court 
of  the  spring?  " 

The  poet  would  answer:  "No,  but  also  to  sip 
the  honey  of  the  spray  of  spring  flowers." 

And  they  all  laughed  in  the  king's  hall.  And 
it  was  rumoured  that  the  Princess  Ajita  also  laughed 
at  her  maid's  accepting  the  poet's  name  for  her,  and 
Manjari  felt  glad  in  her  heart. 

Thus  truth  and  falsehood  mingle  in  life  —  and 
to  what  God  builds  man  adds  his  own  decoration. 

Only  those  were  pure  truths  which  were  sung  by 
the  poet.  The  theme  was  Krishna,  the  lover  god, 
and  Radha,  the  beloved,  the  Eternal  Man  and  the 
Eternal  Woman,  the  sorrow  that  comes  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  and  the  joy  without  end.  The 
truth  of  these  songs  was  tested  in  his  inmost  heart 
by  everybody  from  the  beggar  to  the  king  himself. 
The  poet's  songs  were  on  the  lips  of  all.  At  the 
merest  glimmer  of  the  moon  and  the  faintest  whis- 
per of  the  summer  breeze  his  songs  would  break 
forth  in  the  land  from  windows  and  courtyards,  from 
sailing-boats,  from  shadows  of  the  wayside  trees,  in 
numberless  voices. 

Thus  passed  the  days  happily.  The  poet  recited, 
the  king  listened,  the  hearers  applauded,  Manjari 


32  THE  VICTORY 

passed  and  repassed  by  the  poet's  room  on  her  way 
to  the  river  —  the  shadow  flitted  behind  the  screened 
balcony,  and  the  tiny  golden  bells  tinkled  from  afar. 

Just  then  set  forth  from  his  home  in  the  south 
a  poet  on  his  path  of  conquest.  He  came  to  King 
Narayan,  in  the  kingdom  of  Amarapur.  He  stood 
before  the  throne,  and  uttered  a  verse  in  praise  of 
the  king.  He  had  challenged  all  the  court  poets 
on  his  way,  and  his  career  of  victory  had  been  un- 
broken. 

The  king  received  him  with  honour,  and  said: 
"  Poet,  I  offer  you  welcome." 

Pundarik,  the  poet,  proudly  replied :  "  Sire,  I 
ask  for  war." 

Shekhar,  the  court  poet  of  the  king  did  not  know 
how  the  battle  of  the  muse  was  to  be  waged.  He 
had  no  sleep  at  night.  The  mighty  figure  of  the 
famous  Pundarik,  his  sharp  nose  curved  like  a  scim- 
itar, and  his  proud  head  tilted  on  one  side,  haunted 
the  poet's  vision  in  the  dark. 

With  a  trembling  heart  Shekhar  entered  the  arena 
in  the  morning.  The  theatre  was  filled  with  the 
crowd. 

The  poet  greeted  his  rival  with  a  smile  and  a  bow. 


THE  VICTORY  33 

Pundarik  returned  it  with  a  slight  toss  of  his  head, 
and  turned  his  face  towards  his  circle  of  adoring 
followers  with  a  meaning  smile. 

Shekhar  cast  his  glance  towards  the  screened  bal- 
cony high  above,  and  saluted  his  lady  in  his  mind, 
saying:  "  If  I  am  the  winner  at  the  combat  to-day, 
my  lady,  thy  victorious  name  shall  be  glorified." 

The  trumpet  sounded.  The  great  crowd  stood 
up,  shouting  victory  to  the  king.  The  king,  dressed 
in  an  ample  robe  of  white,  slowly  came  into  the  hall 
like  a  floating  cloud  of  autumn,  and  sat  on  his  throne. 

Pundarik  stood  up,  and  the  vast  hall  became  still. 
With  his  head  raised  high  and  chest  expanded,  he 
began  in  his  thundering  voice  to  recite  the  praise  of 
King  Narayan.  His  words  burst  upon  the  walls  of 
the  hall  like  breakers  of  the  sea,  and  seemed  to  rattle 
against  the  ribs  of  the  listening  crowd.  The  skill 
with  which  he  gave  varied  meanings  to  the  name 
Narayan,  and  wove  each  letter  of  it  through  the  web 
of  his  verses  in  all  manner  of  combinations,  took 
away  the  breath  of  his  amazed  hearers. 

For  some  minutes  after  he  took  his  seat  his  voice 
continued  to  vibrate  among  the  numberless  pillars 
of  the  king's  court  and  in  thousands  of  speechless 
hearts.  The  learned  professors  who  had  come  from 


34  THE  VICTORY 

distant  lands  raised  their  right  hands,  and  cried, 
Bravo ! 

The  king  threw  a  glance  on  Shekhar's  face,  and 
Shekhar  in  answer  raised  for  a  moment  his  eyes  full 
of  pain  towards  his  master,  and  then  stood  up  like 
a  stricken  deer  at  bay.  His  face  was  pale,  his  bash- 
fulness  was  almost  that  of  a  woman,  his  slight  youth- 
ful figure,  delicate  in  its  outline,  seemed  like  a  tensely 
strung  vina  ready  to  break  out  in  music  at  the  least 
touch. 

His  head  was  bent,  his  voice  was  low,  when  he 
began.  The  first  few  verses  were  almost  inaudible. 
Then  he  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  his  clear  sweet 
voice  rose  into  the  sky  like  a  quivering  flame  of 
fire.  He  began  with  the  ancient  legend  of  the 
kingly  line  lost  in  the  haze  of  the  past,  and  brought 
it  down  through  its  long  course  of  heroism  and 
matchless  generosity  to  the  present  age.  He  fixed 
his  gaze  on  the  king's  face,  and  all  the  vast  and 
unexpressed  love  of  the  people  for  the  royal  house 
rose  like  incense  in  his  song,  and  enwreathed  the 
throne  on  all  sides.  These  were  his  last  words 
when,  trembling,  he  took  his  seat:  "  My  master,  I 
may  be  beaten  in  play  of  words,  but  not  in  my  love 
for  thee." 


THE  VICTORY  35 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  the  hearers,  and  the  stone 
walls  shook  with  cries  of  victory. 

Mocking  this  popular  outburst  of  feeling,  with  an 
august  shake  of  his  head  and  a  contemptuous  sneer, 
Pundarik  stood  up,  and  flung  this  question  to  the 
assembly:  "What  is  there  superior  to  words?" 
In  a  moment  the  hall  lapsed  into  silence  again. 

Then  with  a  marvellous  display  of  learning,  he 
proved  that  the  Word  was  in  the  beginning,  that 
the  Word  was  God.  He  piled  up  quotations  from 
scriptures,  and  built  a  high  altar  for  the  Word  to 
be  seated  above  all  that  there  is  in  heaven  and  in 
earth.  He  repeated  that  question  in  his  mighty 
voice:  "  What  is  there  superior  to  words?  " 

Proudly  he  looked  around  him.  None  dared  to 
accept  his  challenge,  and  he  slowly  took  his  seat  like 
a  lion  who  had  just  made  a  full  meal  of  its  victim. 
The  pandits  shouted,  Bravo !  The  king  remained 
silent  with  wonder,  and  the  poet  Shekhar  felt  him- 
self of  no  account  by  the  side  of  this  stupendous 
learning.  The  assembly  broke  up  for  that  day. 

Next  day  Shekhar  began  his  song.  It  was  of 
that  day  when  the  pipings  of  love's  flute  startled  for 
the  first  time  the  hushed  air  of  the  Vrinda  forest. 
The  shepherd  women  did  not  know  who  was  the 


36  THE  VICTORY 

player  or  whence  came  the  music.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  come  from  the  heart  of  the  south  wind, 
and  sometimes  from  the  straying  clouds  of  the  hill- 
tops. It  came  with  a  message  of  tryst  from  the 
land  of  the  sunrise,  and  it  floated  from  the  verge 
of  sunset  with  its  sigh  of  sorrow.  The  stars  seemed 
to  be  the  stops  of  the  instrument  that  flooded  the 
dreams  of  the  night  with  melody.  The  music 
seemed  to  burst  all  at  once  from  all  sides,  from 
fields  and  groves,  from  the  shady  lanes  and  lonely 
roads,  from  the  melting  blue  of  the  sky,  from  the 
shimmering  green  of  the  grass.  They  neither  knew 
its  meaning  nor  could  they  find  words  to  give  utter- 
ance to  the  desire  of  their  hearts.  Tears  filled  their 
eyes,  and  their  life  seemed  to  long  for  a  death  that 
would  be  its  consummation. 

Shekhar  forgot  his  audience,  forgot  the  trial  of 
his  strength  with  a  rival.  He  stood  alone  amid  his 
thoughts  that  rustled  and  quivered  round  him  like 
leaves  in  a  summer  breeze,  and  sang  the  Song  of  the 
Flute.  He  had  in  his  mind  the  vision  of  an  image 
that  had  taken  its  shape  from  a  shadow,  and  the 
echo  of  a  faint  tinkling  sound  of  a  distant  footstep. 

He  took  his  seat.  His  hearers  trembled  with 
the  sadness  of  an  indefinable  delight,  immense  and 


THE  VICTORY  37 

vague,  and  they  forgot  to  applaud  him.  As  this 
feeling  died  away  Pundarik  stood  up  before  the 
throne  and  challenged  his  rival  to  define  who  was 
this  Lover  and  who  was  the  Beloved.  He  arro- 
gantly looked  around  him,  he  smiled  at  his  followers 
and  then  put  the  question  again :  "  Who  is  Krishna, 
the  lover,  and  who  is  Radha,  the  beloved?  " 

Then  he  began  to  analyse  the  roots  of  those  names, 
—  and  various  interpretations  of  their  meanings. 
He  brought  before  the  bewildered  audience  all  the 
intricacies  of  the  different  schools  of  metaphysics 
with  consummate  skill.  Each  letter  of  those  names 
he  divided  from  its  fellow,  and  then  pursued  them 
with  a  relentless  logic  till  they  fell  to  the  dust  in  con- 
fusion, to  be  caught  up  again  and  restored  to  a  mean- 
ing never  before  imagined  by  the  subtlest  of  word- 
mongers. 

The  pandits  were  in  ecstasy;  they  applauded 
vociferously;  and  the  crowd  followed  them,  deluded 
into  the  certainty  that  they  had  witnessed,  that  day, 
the  last  shred  of  the  curtains  of  Truth  torn  to  pieces 
before  their  eyes  by  a  prodigy  of  intellect.  The 
performance  of  his  tremendous  feat  so  delighted 
them  that  they  forgot  to  ask  themselves  if  there  was 
any  truth  behind  it  after  all. 


3 8  THE  VICTORY 

The  king's  mind  was  overwhelmed  with  wonder. 
The  atmosphere  was  completely  cleared  of  all  illu- 
sion of  music,  and  the  vision  of  the  world  around 
seemed  to  be  changed  from  its  freshness  of  tender 
green  to  the  solidity  of  a  high  road  levelled  and  made 
hard  with  crushed  stones. 

To  the  people  assembled  their  own  poet  appeared 
a  mere  boy  in  comparison  with  this  giant,  who  walked 
with  such  ease,  knocking  down  difficulties  at  each 
step  in  the  world  of  words  and  thoughts.  It  be- 
came evident  to  them  for  the  first  time  that  the 
poems  Shekhar  wrote  were  absurdly  simple,  and  it 
must  be  a  mere  accident  that  they  did  not  write  them 
themselves.  They  were  neither  new,  nor  difficult, 
nor  instructive,  nor  necessary. 

The  king  tried  to  goad  his  poet  with  keen  glances, 
silently  inciting  him  to  make  a  final  effort.  But 
Shekhar  took  no  notice,  and  remained  fixed  to  his 
seat. 

The  king  in  anger  came  down  from  his  throne 
—  took  off  his  pearl  chain  and  put  it  on  Pundarik's 
head.  Everybody  in  the  hall  cheered.  From  the 
upper  balcony  came  a  slight  sound  of  the  movements 
of  rustling  robes  and  waist-chains  hung  with  golden 
bells.  Shekhar  rose  from  his  seat  and  left  the  hall. 


THE  VICTORY  39 

It  was  a  dark  night  of  waning  moon.  The  poet 
Shekhar  took  down  his  MSS.  from  his  shelves  and 
heaped  them  on  the  floor.  Some  of  them  contained 
his  earliest  writings,  which  he  had  almost  forgotten. 
He  turned  over  the  pages,  reading  passages  here  and 
there.  They  all  seemed  to  him  poor  and  trivial  — 
mere  words  and  childish  rhymes! 

One  by  one  he  tore  his  books  to  fragments,  and 
threw  them  into  a  vessel  containing  fire,  and  said: 
"  To  thee,  to  thee,  O  my  beauty,  my  fire !  Thou 
hast  been  burning  in  my  heart  all  these  futile  years. 
If  my  life  were  a  piece  of  gold  it  would  come  out  of 
its  trial  brighter,  but  it  is  a  trodden  turf  of  grass,  and 
nothing  remains  of  it  but  this  handful  of  ashes." 

The  night  wore  on.  Shekhar  opened  wide  his 
windows.  He  spread  upon  his  bed  the  white 
flowers  that  he  loved,  the  jasmines,  tuberoses  and 
chrysanthemums,  and  brought  into  his  bedroom  all 
the  lamps  he  had  in  his  house  and  lighted  them. 
Then  mixing  with  honey  the  juice  of  some  poisonous 
root  he  drank  it  and  lay  down  on  his  bed. 

Golden  anklets  tinkled  in  the  passage  outside  the 
door,  and  a  subtle  perfume  came  into  the  room  with 
the  breeze. 

The  poet,  with  his  eyes  shut,  said:     "My  lady, 


40  THE  VICTORY 

have  you  taken  pity  upon  your  servant  at  last  and 
come  to  see  him?  " 

The  answer  came  in  a  sweet  voice :  "  My  poet, 
I  have  come." 

Shekhar  opened  his  eyes  —  and  saw  before  his  bed 
the  figure  of  a  woman. 

His  sight  was  dim  and  blurred.  And  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  image  made  of  a  shadow  that  he 
had  ever  kept  throned  in  the  secret  shrine  of  his 
heart  had  come  into  the  outer  world  in  his  last  mo- 
ment to  gaze  upon  his  face. 

The  woman  said:     "  I  am  the  Princess  Ajita." 

The  poet  with  a  great  effort  sat  up  on  his  bed. 

The  princess  whispered  into  his  ear:  "  The  king 
has  not  done  you  justice.  It  was  you  who  won  at 
the  combat,  my  poet,  and  I  have  come  to  crown  you 
with  the  crown  of  victory." 

She  took  the  garland  of  flowers  from  her  own 
neck,  and  put  it  on  his  hair,  and  the  poet  fell  down 
upon  his  bed  stricken  by  death. 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

"  ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king." 

When  we  were  children  there  was  no  need  to  know 
who  the  king  in  the  fairy  story  was.  It  didn't  mat- 
ter whether  he  was  called  Shiladitya  or  Shaliban, 
whether  he  lived  at  Kashi  or  Kanauj.  The  thing 
that  made  a  seven-year-old  boy's  heart  go  thump, 
thump  with  delight  was  this  one  sovereign  truth,  this 
reality  of  all  realities:  "Once  there  was  a  king." 

But  the  readers  of  this  modern  age  are  far  more 
exact  and  exacting.  When  they  hear  such  an  open- 
ing to  a  story,  they  are  at  once  critical  and  suspicious. 
They  apply  the  searchlight  of  science  to  its  legendary 
haze  and  ask:  "  Which  king?  " 

The  story-tellers  have  become  more  precise  in 
their  turn.  They  are  no  longer  content  with  the 
old  indefinite,  "  There  was  a  king,"  but  assume  in- 
stead a  look  of  profound  learning,  and  begin: 
"  Once  there  was  a  king  named  Ajatasatru." 

The  modern  reader's  curiosity,  however,  is  not  so 

43 


44          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

easily  satisfied.  He  blinks  at  the  author  through 
his  scientific  spectacles,  and  asks  again:  "Which 
Ajatasatru?  " 

"  Every  schoolboy  knows,"  the  author  proceeds, 
"  that  there  were  three  Ajatasatrus.  The  first  was 
born  in  the  twentieth  century  B.  c.,  and  died  at  the 
tender  age  of  two  years  and  eight  months.  I  deeply 
regret  that  it  is  impossible  to  find,  from  any  trust- 
worthy source,  a  detailed  account  of  his  reign.  The 
second  Ajatasatru  is  better  known  to  historians.  If 
you  refer  to  the  new  Encyclopedia  of  History.  .  .  ." 

By  this  time  the  modern  reader's  suspicions  are 
dissolved.  He  feels  he  may  safely  trust  his  author. 
He  says  to  himself:  "  Now  we  shall  have  a  story 
that  is  both  improving  and  instructive." 

Ah !  how  we  all  love  to  be  deluded !  We  have 
a  secret  dread  of  being  thought  ignorant.  And  we 
end  by  being  ignorant  after  all,  only  we  have  done 
it  in  a  long  and  roundabout  way. 

There  is  an  English  proverb :  "  Ask  me  no  ques- 
tions, and  I  will  tell  you  no  lies."  The  boy  of  seven 
who  is  listening  to  a  fairy  story  understands  that 
perfectly  well;  he  withholds  his  questions,  while  the 
story  is  being  told.  So  the  pure  and  beautiful  false- 
hood of  it  all  remains  naked  and  innocent  as  a  babe; 


45 

transparent  as  truth  itself;  limpid  as  a  fresh  bubbling 
spring.  But  the  ponderous  and  learned  lie  of  our 
moderns  has  to  keep  its  true  character  draped  and 
veiled.  And  if  there  is  discovered  anywhere  the 
least  little  peep-hole  of  deception,  the  reader  turns 
away  with  a  prudish  disgust,  and  the  author  is  dis- 
credited. 

When  we  were  young,  we  understood  all  sweet 
things;  and  we  could  detect  the  sweets  of  a  fairy 
story  by  an  unerring  science  of  our  own.  We  never 
cared  for  such  useless  things  as  knowledge.  We 
only  cared  for  truth.  And  our  unsophisticated  little 
hearts  knew  well  where  the  Crystal  Palace  of  Truth 
lay  and  how  to  reach  it.  But  to-day  we  are  ex- 
.  pected  to  write  pages  of  facts,  while  the  truth  is 
simply  this: 

"  There  was  a  king." 

I  remember  vividly  that  evening  in  Calcutta  when 
the  fairy  story  began.  The  rain  and  the  storm  had 
been  incessant.  The  whole  of  the  city  was  flooded. 
The  water  was  knee-deep  in  our  lane.  I  had  a 
straining  hope,  which  was  almost  a  certainty,  that 
my  tutor  would  be  prevented  from  coming  that  eve- 
ning. I  sat  on  the  stool  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
veranda  looking  down  the  lane,  with  a  heart  beating 


46          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

faster  and  faster.  Every  minute  I  kept  my  eye  on 
the  rain,  and  when  it  began  to  grow  less  I  prayed 
with  all  my  might:  "  Please,  God,  send  some  more 
rain  till  half-past  seven  is  over."  For  I  was  quite 
ready  to  believe  that  there  was  no  other  need  for 
rain  except  to  protect  one  helpless  boy  one  evening 
in  one  corner  of  Calcutta  from  the  deadly  clutches  of 
his  tutor. 

If  not  in  answer  to  my  prayer,  at  any  rate  accord- 
ing to  some  grosser  law  of  physical  nature,  the  rain 
did  not  give  up. 

But,  alas!  nor  did  my  teacher. 

Exactly  to  the  minute,  in  the  bend  of  the  lane,  I 
saw  his  approaching  umbrella.  The  great  bubble 
of  hope  burst  in  my  breast,  and  my  heart  collapsed. 
Truly,  if  there  is  a  punishment  to  fit  the  crime  after 
death,  then  my  tutor  will  be  born  again  as  me,  and 
I  shall  be  born  as  my  tutor. 

As  soon  as  I  saw  his  umbrella  I  ran  as  hard  as  I 
could  to  my  mother's  room.  My  mother  and  my 
grandmother  were  sitting  opposite  one  another  play- 
ing cards  by  the  light  of  a  lamp.  I  ran  into  the 
room,  and  flung  myself  on  the  bed  beside  my  mother, 
and  said: 

"  Mother  dear,  the  tutor  has  come,  and  I  have 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING          47 

such  a  bad  headache;  couldn't  I  have  no  lessons  to- 
day?" 

I  hope  no  child  of  immature  age  will  be  allowed 
to  read  this  story,  and  I  sincerely  trust  it  will  not 
be  used  in  text-books  or  primers  for  schools.  For 
what  I  did  was  dreadfully  bad,  and  I  received  no 
punishment  whatever.  On  the  contrary,  my  wick- 
edness was  crowned  with  success. 

My  mother  said  to  me :  "  All  right,"  and  turn- 
ing to  the  servant  added:  "  Tell  the  tutor  that  he 
can  go  back  home." 

It  was  perfectly  plain  that  she  didn't  think  my 
illness  very  serious,  as  she  went  on  with  her  game 
as  before,  and  took  no  further  notice.  And  I  also, 
burying  my  head  in  the  pillow,  laughed  to  my  heart's 
content.  We  perfectly  understood  one  another,  my 
mother  and  I. 

But  every  one  must  know  how  hard  it  is  for  a 
boy  of  seven  years  old  to  keep  up  the  illusion  of 
illness  for  a  long  time.  After  about  a  minute  I  got 
hold  of  Grandmother,  and  said:  "  Grannie,  do  tell 
me  a  story." 

I  had  to  ask  this  many  times.  Grannie  and 
Mother  went  on  playing  cards,  and  took  no  notice. 
At  last  Mother  said  to  me :  "  Child,  don't  bother. 


48          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

Wait  till  we've  finished  our  game."  But  I  per- 
sisted: "Grannie,  do  tell  me  a  story."  I  told 
Mother  she  could  finish  her  game  to-morrow,  but 
she  must  let  Grannie  tell  me  a  story  there  and  then. 

At  last  Mother  threw  down  the  cards  and  said: 
"  You  had  better  do  what  he  wants.  I  can't  manage 
him."  Perhaps  she  had  it  in  her  mind  that  she 
would  have  no  tiresome  tutor  on  the  morrow,  while 
I  should  be  obliged  to  be  back  to  those  stupid  lessons. 

As  soon  as  ever  Mother  had  given  way,  I  rushed 
at  Grannie.  I  got  hold  of  her  hand,  and,  dancing 
with  delight,  dragged  her  inside  my  mosquito  cur- 
tain on  to  the  bed.  I  clutched  hold  of  the  bolster 
with  both  hands  in  my  excitement,  and  jumped  up 
and  down  with  joy,  and  when  I  had  got  a  little 
quieter,  said:  "Now,  Grannie,  let's  have  the 
story!  " 

Grannie  went  on:  "  And  the  king  had  a  queen." 
That  was  good  to  begin  with.  He  had  only  one. 

It  is  usual  for  kings  in  fairy  stories  to  be  ex- 
travagant in  queens.  And  whenever  we  hear  that 
there  are  two  queens,  our  hearts  begin  to  sink.  One 
is  sure  to  be  unhappy.  But  in  Grannie's  story  that 
danger  was  past.  He  had  only  one  queen. 

We  next  hear  that  the  king  had  not  got  any  son. 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING          49 

At  the  age  of  seven  I  didn't  think  there  was  any 
need  to  bother  if  a  man  had  had  no  son.  He  might 
only  have  been  in  the  way. 

Nor  are  we  greatly  excited  when  we  hear  that 
the  king  has  gone  away  into  the  forest  to  practise 
austerities  in  order  to  get  a  son.  There  was  only 
one  thing  that  would  have  made  me  go  into  the 
forest,  and  that  was  to  get  away  from  my  tutor ! 

But  the  king  left  behind  with  his  queen  a  small 
girl,  who  grew  up  into  a  beautiful  princess. 

Twelve  years  pass  away,  and  the  king  goes  on 
practising  austerities,  and  never  thinks  all  this  while 
of  his  beautiful  daughter.  The  princess  has  reached 
the  full  bloom  of  her  youth.  The  age  of  marriage 
has  passed,  but  the  king  does  not  return.  And  the 
queen  pines  away  with  grief  and  cries :  "  Is  my 
golden  daughter  destined  to  die  unmarried?  Ah 
me!  What  a  fate  is  mine." 

Then  the  queen  sent  men  to  the  king  to  entreat  him 
earnestly  to  come  back  for  a  single  night  and  take 
one  meal  in  the  palace.  And  the  king  consented. 

The  queen  cooked  with  her  own  hand,  and  with 
the  greatest  care,  sixty-four  dishes,  and  made  a  seat 
for  him  of  sandal-wood,  and  arranged  the  food  in 
plates  of  gold  and  cups  of  silver.  The  princess 


50          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

stood  behind  with  the  peacock-tail  fan  in  her  hand. 
The  king,  after  twelve  years'  absence,  came  into  the 
house,  and  the  princess  waved  the  fan,  lighting  up 
all  the  room  with  her  beauty.  The  king  looked  in 
his  daughter's  face,  and  forgot  to  take  his  food. 

At  last  he  asked  his  queen:  "  Pray,  who  is  this 
girl  whose  beauty  shines  as  the  gold  image  of  the 
goddess?  Whose  daughter  is  she?" 

The  queen  beat  her  forehead,  and  cried:  "Ah, 
how  evil  is  my  fate !  Do  you  not  know  your  own 
daughter?  " 

The  king  was  struck  with  amazement.  He  said 
at  last:  "My  tiny  daughter  has  grown  to  be  a 
woman." 

"  What  else?  "  the  queen  said  with  a  sigh.  "  Do 
you  not  know  that  twelve  years  have  passed  by?  " 

"But  why  did  you  not  give  her  in  marriage?" 
asked  the  king. 

'  You  were  away,"  the  queen  said.     "  And  how 
could  I  find  her  a  suitable  husband?  " 

The    king    became    vehement    with    excitement. 
'  The  first  man  I  see  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  when 
I  come  out  of  the  palace  shall  marry  her." 

The  princess  went  on  waving  her  fan  of  peacock 
feathers,  and  the  king  finished  his  meal. 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING          51 

The  next  morning,  as  the  king  came  out  of  his 
palace,  he  saw  the  son  of  a  Brahman  gathering  sticks 
in  the  forest  outside  the  palace  gates.  His  age  was 
about  seven  or  eight. 

The  king  said:  "I  will  marry  my  daughter  to 
him." 

Who  can  interfere  with  a  king's  command?  At 
once  the  boy  was  called,  and  the  marriage  garlands 
were  exchanged  between  him  and  the  princess. 

At  this  point  I  came  up  close  to  my  wise  Grannie 
and  asked  her  eagerly:  "  What  then?  " 

In  the  bottom  of  my  heart  there  was  a  devout 
wish  to  substitute  myself  for  that  fortunate  wood- 
gatherer  of  seven  years  old.  The  night  was  reso- 
nant with  the  patter  of  rain.  The  earthen  lamp  by 
my  bedside  was  burning  low.  My  grandmother's 
voice  droned  on  as  she  told  the  story.  And  all 
these  things  served  to  create  in  a  corner  of  my  credu- 
lous heart  the  belief  that  I  had  been  gathering  sticks 
in  the  dawn  of  some  indefinite  time  in  the  kingdom 
of  some  unknown  king,  and  in  a  moment  garlands 
had  been  exchanged  between  me  and  the  princess, 
beautiful  as  the  Goddess  of  Grace.  She  had  a  gold 
band  on  her  hair  and  gold  earrings  in  her  ears.  She 
had  a  necklace  and  bracelets  of  gold,  and  a  golden 


52          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

waist-chain  round  her  waist,  and  a  pair  of  golden 
anklets  tinkled  above  her  feet. 

If  my  grandmother  were  an  author  how  many 
explanations  she  would  have  to  offer  for  this  little 
story!  First  of  all,  every  one  would  ask  why  the 
king  remained  twelve  years  in  the  forest?  Sec- 
ondly, why  should  the  king's  daughter  remain  un- 
married all  that  while?  This  would  be  regarded  as 
absurd. 

Even  if  she  could  have  got  so  far  without  a  quar- 
rel, still  there  would  have  been  a  great  hue  and  cry 
about  the  marriage  itself.  First,  it  never  happened. 
Secondly,  how  could  there  be  a  marriage  between  a 
princess  of  the  Warrior  Caste  and  a  boy  of  the 
priestly  Brahman  Caste?  Her  readers  would  have 
imagined  at  once  that  the  writer  was  preaching 
against  our  social  customs  in  an  underhand  way. 
And  they  would  write  letters  to  the  papers. 

So  I  pray  with  all  my  heart  that  my  grandmother 
may  be  born  a  grandmother  again,  and  not  through 
some  cursed  fate  take  birth  as  her  luckless  grandson. 

So  with  a  throb  of  joy  and  delight,  I  asked  Gran- 
nie: "What  then?" 

Grannie  went  on:  Then  the  princess  took  her 
little  husband  away  in  great  distress,  and  built  a 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING          53 

large  palace  with  seven  wings,  and  began  to  cherish 
her  husband  with  great  care. 

I  jumped  up  and  down  in  my  bed  and  clutched 
at  the  bolster  more  tightly  than  ever  and  said: 
"What  then?" 

Grannie  continued :  The  little  boy  went  to  school 
and  learnt  many  lessons  from  his  teachers,  and  as 
he  grew  up  his  class-fellows  began  to  ask  him: 
"  Who  is  that  beautiful  lady  who  lives  with  you  in 
the  palace  with  the  seven  wings?  " 

The  Brahman's  son  was  eager  to  know  who  she 
was.  He  could  only  remember  how  one  day  he  had 
been  gathering  sticks,  and  a  great  disturbance  arose. 
But  all  that  was  so  long  ago,  that  he  had  no  clear 
recollection. 

Four  or  five  years  passed  in  this  way.  His  com- 
panions always  asked  him:  "  Who  is  that  beautiful 
lady  in  the  palace  with  the  seven  wings?  "  And  the 
Brahman's  son  would  come  back  from  school  and 
sadly  tell  the  princess:  "My  school  companions 
always  ask  me  who  is  that  beautiful  lady  in  the  palace 
with  the  seven  wings,  and  I  can  give  them  no  reply. 
Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  who  you  are !  " 

The  princess  said:  "Let  it  pass  to-day.  I  will 
tell  you  some  other  day."  And  every  day  the 


54          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

Brahman's  son  would  ask:  "  Who  are  you?  "  and 
the  princess  would  reply:  "Let  it  pass  to-day.  I 
will  tell  you  some  other  day."  In  this  manner  four 
or  five  more  years  passed  away. 

At  last  the  Brahman's  son  became  very  impatient, 
and  said:  "  If  you  do  not  tell  me  to-day  who  you 
are,  O  beautiful  lady,  I  will  leave  this  palace  with 
the  seven  wings."  Then  the  princess  said:  "  I  will 
certainly  tell  you  to-morrow." 

Next  day  the  Brahman's  son,  as  soon  as  he  came 
home  from  school,  said:  "Now,  tell  me  who  you 
are."  The  princess  said :  "  To-night  I  will  tell  you 
after  supper,  when  you  are  in  bed." 

The  Brahman's  son  said:  "  Very  well  ";  and  he 
began  to  count  the  hours  in  expectation  of  the  night. 
And  the  princess,  on  her  side,  spread  white  flowers 
over  the  golden  bed,  and  lighted  a  gold  lamp  with 
fragrant  oil,  and  adorned  her  hair,  and  dressed  her- 
self in  a  beautiful  robe  of  blue,  and  began  to  count 
the  hours  in  expectation  of  the  night. 

That  evening  when  her  husband,  the  Brahman's 
son,  had  finished  his  meal,  too  excited  almost  to  eat, 
and  had  gone  to  the  golden  bed  in  the  bed-chamber 
strewn  with  flowers,  he  said  to  himself:  '  To-night 


ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING          55 

I  shall  surely  know  who  this  beautiful  lady  is  in  the 
palace  with  the  seven  wings." 

The  princess  took  for  her  the  food  that  was  left 
over  by  her  husband,  and  slowly  entered  the  bed- 
chamber. She  had  to  answer  that  night  the  ques- 
tion, who  was  the  beautiful  lady  who  lived  in  the 
palace  with  the  seven  wings.  And  as  she  went  up 
to  the  bed  to  tell  him  she  found  a  serpent  had  crept 
out  of  the  flowers  and  had  bitten  the  Brahman's  son. 
Her  boy-husband  was  lying  on  the  bed  of  flowers, 
with  face  pale  in  death. 

My  heart  suddenly  ceased  to  throb,  and  I  asked 
with  choking  voice:  "  What  then?  " 

Grannie  said:     "Then  .  .  ." 

But  what  is  the  use  of  going  on  any  further  with 
the  story?  It  would  only  lead  on  to  what  was  more 
and  more  impossible.  The  boy  of  seven  did  not 
know  that,  if  there  were  some  "  What  then?  "  after 
death,  no  grandmother  of  a  grandmother  could  tell 
us  all  about  it. 

But  the  child's  faith  never  admits  defeat,  and  it 
would  snatch  at  the  mantle  of  death  itself  to  turn 
him  back.  It  would  be  outrageous  for  him  to  think 
that  such  a  story  of  one  teacherless  evening  could  so 


56          ONCE  THERE  WAS  A  KING 

suddenly  come  to  a  stop.  Therefore  the  grand- 
mother had  to  call  back  her  story  from  the  ever-shut 
chamber  of  the  great  End,  but  she  does  it  so  simply: 
it  is  merely  by  floating  the  dead  body  on  a  banana 
stem  on  the  river,  and  having  some  incantations  read 
by  a  magician.  But  in  that  rainy  night  and  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  lamp  death  loses  all  its  horror  in  the 
mind  of  the  boy,  and  seems  nothing  more  than  a 
deep  slumber  of  a  single  night.  When  the  story 
ends  the  tired  eyelids  are  weighed  down  with  sleep. 
Thus  it  is  that  we  send  the  little  body  of  the  child 
floating  on  the  back  of  sleep  over  the  still  water  of 
time,  and  then  in  the  morning  read  a  few  verses  of 
incantation  to  restore  him  to  the  world  of  life  and 
light. 


THE  HOME-COMING 


THE  HOME-COMING 

PHATIK  CHAKRAVORTI  was  ringleader  among  the 
boys  of  the  village.  A  new  mischief  got  into  his 
head.  There  was  a  heavy  log  lying  on  the  mud- 
flat  of  the  river  waiting  to  be  shaped  into  a  mast 
for  a  boat.  He  decided  that  they  should  all  work 
together  to  shift  the  log  by  main  force  from  its  place 
and  roll  it  away.  The  owner  of  the  log  would  be 
angry  and  surprised,  and  they  would  all  enjoy  the 
fun.  Every  one  seconded  the  proposal,  and  it  was 
carried  unanimously. 

But  just  as  the  fun  was  about  to  begin,  Makhan, 
Phatik's  younger  brother,  sauntered  up,  and  sat 
down  on  the  log  in  front  of  them  all  without  a  word. 
The  boys  were  puzzled  for  a  moment.  He  was 
pushed,  rather  timidly,  by  one  of  the  boys  and  told 
to  get  up :  but  he  remained  quite  unconcerned.  He 
appeared  like  a  young  philosopher  meditating  on 
the  futility  of  games.  Phatik  was  furious. 
"  Makhan,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  don't  get  down  this 
minute,  I'll  thrash  you!  " 

59 


60  THE  HOME-COMING 

Makhan  only  moved  to  a  more  comfortable 
position. 

Now,  if  Phatik  was  to  keep  his  regal  dignity 
before  the  public,  it  was  clear  he  ought  to  carry  out 
his  threat.  But  his  courage  failed  him  at  the  crisis. 
His  fertile  brain,  however,  rapidly  seized  upon  a 
new  manoeuvre  which  would  discomfit  his  brother 
and  afford  his  followers  an  added  amusement.  He 
gave  the  word  of  command  to  roll  the  log  and 
Makhan  over  together.  Makhan  heard  the  order, 
and  made  it  a  point  of  honour  to  stick  on.  But  he 
overlooked  the  fact,  like  those  who  attempt  earthly 
fame  in  other  matters,  that  there  was  peril  in  it. 

The  boys  began  to  heave  at  the  log  with  all  their 
might,  calling  out,  "  One,  two,  three,  go."  At  the 
word  "  go  "  the  log  went ;  and  with  it  went  Makhan's 
philosophy,  glory  and  all. 

All  the  other  boys  shouted  themselves  hoarse 
with  delight.  But  Phatik  was  a  little  frightened. 
He  knew  what  was  coming.  And,  sure  enough, 
Makhan  rose  from  Mother  Earth  blind  as  Fate  and 
screaming  like  the  Furies.  He  rushed  at  Phatik 
and  scratched  his  face  and  beat  him  and  kicked  him, 
and  then  went  crying  home.  The  first  act  of  the 
drama  was  over. 


THE  HOME-COMING  61 

Phatik  wiped  his  face,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  a  sunken  barge  on  the  river  bank,  and  began  to 
chew  a  piece  of  grass.  A  boat  came  up  to  the  land- 
ing, and  a  middle-aged  man,  with  grey  hair  and  dark 
moustache,  stepped  on  shore.  He  saw  the  boy 
sitting  there  doing  nothing,  and  asked  him  where 
the  Chakravortis  lived.  Phatik  went  on  chewing 
the  grass,  and  said:  "  Over  there,"  but  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  tell  where  he  pointed.  The  stranger 
asked  him  again.  He  swung  his  legs  to  and  fro  on 
the  side  of  the  barge,  and  said:  "  Go  and  find  out," 
and  continued  to  chew  the  grass  as  before. 

But  now  a  servant  came  down  from  the  house, 
and  told  Phatik  his  mother  wanted  him.  Phatik 
refused  to  move.  But  the  servant  was  the  master 
on  this  occasion.  He  took  Phatik  up  roughly,  and 
carried  him,  kicking  and  struggling  in  impotent  rage. 

When  Phatik  came  into  the  house,  his  mother 
saw  him.  She  called  out  angrily:  "So  you  have 
been  hitting  Makhan  again?" 

Phatik  answered  indignantly:  "No,  I  haven't; 
who  told  you  that?  " 

His  mother  shouted:  "Don't  tell  lies!  You 
have." 

Phatik   said   suddenly:    "I    tell   you,    I   haven't. 


62  THE  HOME-COMING 

You  ask  Makhan !  "  But  Makhan  thought  it  best 
to  stick  to  his  previous  statement.  He  said:  u  Yes, 
mother.  Phatik  did  hit  me." 

Phatik's  patience  was  already  exhausted.  He 
could  not  bear  this  injustice.  He  rushed  at  Mak- 
han, and  hammered  him  with  blows:  "  Take  that," 
he  cried,  "  and  that,  and  that,  for  telling  lies." 

His  mother  took  Makhan's  side  in  a  moment, 

and  pulled  Phatik  away,  beating  him  with  her  hands. 

When  Phatik  pushed  her  aside,  she  shouted  out: 

'  What!  you  little  villain!  would  you  hit  your  own 

mother?  " 

It  was  just  at  this  critical  juncture  that  the  grey- 
haired  stranger  arrived.  He  asked  what  was  the 
matter.  Phatik  looked  sheepish  and  ashamed. 

But  when  his  mother  stepped  back  and  looked 
at  the  stranger,  her  anger  was  changed  to  surprise. 
For  she  recognised  her  brother,  and  cried:  "Why, 
Dada !  Where  have  you  come  from?" 

As  she  said  these  words,  she  bowed  to  the  ground 
and  touched  his  feet.  Her  brother  had  gone  away 
soon  after  she  had  married,  and  he  had  started  busi- 
ness in  Bombay.  His  sister  had  lost  her  husband 
while  he  was  in  Bombay.  Bishamber  had  now  come 
back  to  Calcutta,  and  had  at  once  made  enquiries 


THE  HOME-COMING  63 

about  his  sister.  He  had  then  hastened  to  see  her 
as  soon  as  he  found  out  where  she  was. 

The  next  few  days  were  full  of  rejoicing.  The 
brother  asked  after  the  education  of  the  two  boys. 
He  was  told  by  his  sister  that  Phatik  was  a  per- 
petual nuisance.  He  was  lazy,  disobedient,  and 
wild.  But  Makhan  was  as  good  as  gold,  as  quiet 
as  a  lamb,  and  very  fond  of  reading.  Bishamber 
kindly  offered  to  take  Phatik  off  his  sister's  hands, 
and  educate  him  with  his  own  children  in  Calcutta. 
The  widowed  mother  readily  agreed.  When  his 
uncle  asked  Phatik  if  he  would  like  to  go  to  Cal- 
cutta with  him,  his  joy  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  said: 
"  Oh,  yes,  uncle !  "  in  a  way  that  made  it  quite  clear 
that  he  meant  it. 

It  was  an  immense  relief  to  the  mother  to  get 
rid  of  Phatik.  She  had  a  prejudice  against  the  boy, 
and  no  love  was  lost  between  the  two  brothers.  She 
was  in  daily  fear  that  he  would  either  drown  Mak- 
han some  day  in  the  river,  or  break  his  head  in  a 
fight,  or  run  him  into  some  danger  or  other.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  somewhat  distressed  to  see 
Phatik's  extreme  eagerness  to  get  away. 

Phatik,  as  soon  as  all  was  settled,  kept  asking 
his  uncle  every  minute  when  they  were  to  start. 


64  THE  HOME-COMING 

He  was  on  pins  and  needles  all  day  long  with  ex- 
citement, and  lay  awake  most  of  the  night.  He 
bequeathed  to  Makhan,  in  perpetuity,  his  fishing- 
rod,  his  big  kite  and  his  marbles.  Indeed,  at  this 
time  of  departure  his  generosity  towards  Makhan 
was  unbounded. 

When  they  reached  Calcutta,  Phatik  made  the 
acquaintance  of  his  aunt  for  the  first  time.  She  was 
by  no  means  pleased  with  this  unnecessary  addition 
to  her  family.  She  found  her  own  three  boys  quite 
enough  to  manage  without  taking  any  one  else. 
And  to  bring  a  village  lad  of  fourteen  into  their 
midst  was  terribly  upsetting.  Bishamber  should 
really  have  thought  twice  before  committing  such  an 
indiscretion. 

In  this  world  of  human  affairs  there  is  no  worse 
nuisance  than  a  boy  at  the  age  of  fourteen.  He  is 
neither  ornamental,  nor  useful.  It  is  impossible  to 
shower  affection  on  him  as  on  a  little  boy;  and  he 
is  always  getting  in  the  way.  If  he  talks  with  a 
childish  lisp  he  is  called  a  baby,  and  if  he  answers 
in  a  grown-up  way  he  is  called  impertinent.  In  fact 
any  talk  at  all  from  him  is  resented.  Then  he  is  at 
the  unattractive,  growing  age.  He  grows  out  of 
his  clothes  with  indecent  haste;  his  voice  grows 


THE  HOME-COMING  65 

hoarse  and  breaks  and  quavers;  his  face  grows  sud- 
denly angular  and  unsightly.  It  is  easy  to  excuse 
the  shortcomings  of  early  childhood,  but  it  is  hard 
to  tolerate  even  unavoidable  lapses  in  a  boy  of  four- 
teen. The  lad  himself  becomes  painfully  self-con- 
scious. When  he  talks  with  elderly  people  he  is 
either  unduly  forward,  or  else  so  unduly  shy  that 
he  appears  ashamed  of  his  very  existence. 

Yet  it  is  at  this  very  age  when  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  a  young  lad  most  craves  for  recognition  and 
love;  and  he  becomes  the  devoted  slave  of  any  one 
who  shows  him  consideration.  But  none  dare 
openly  love  him,  for  that  would  be  regarded  as 
undue  indulgence,  and  therefore  bad  for  the  boy. 
So,  what  with  scolding  and  chiding,  he  becomes  very 
much  like  a  stray  dog  that  has  lost  his  master. 

For  a  boy  of  fourteen  his  own  home  is  the  only 
Paradise.  To  live  in  a  strange  house  with  strange 
people  is  little  short  of  torture,  while  the  height 
of  bliss  is  to  receive  the  kind  looks  of  women,  and 
never  to  be  slighted  by  them. 

It  was  anguish  to  Phatik  to  be  the  unwelcome 
guest  in  his  aunt's  house,  despised  by  this  elderly 
woman,  and  slighted  on  every  occasion.  If  she 
ever  asked  him  to  do  anything  for  her,  he  would 


66  THE  HOME-COMING 

be  so  overjoyed  that  he  would  overdo  it;  and  then 
she  would  tell  him  not  to  be  so  stupid,  but  to  get 
on  with  his  lessons. 

The  cramped  atmosphere  of  neglect  in  his  aunt's 
house  oppressed  Phatik  so  much  that  he  felt  that 
he  could  hardly  breathe.  He  wanted  to  go  out  into 
the  open  country  and  fill  his  lungs  and  breathe 
freely.  But  there  was  no  open  country  to  go  to. 
Surrounded  on  all  sides  by  Calcutta  houses  and 
walls,  he  would  dream  night  after  night  of  his  vil- 
lage home,  and  long  to  be  back  there.  He  remem- 
bered the  glorious  meadow  where  he  used  to  fly  his 
kite  all  day  long;  the  broad  river-banks  where  he 
would  wander  about  the  livelong  day  singing  and 
shouting  for  joy;  the  narrow  brook  where  he  could 
go  and  dive  and  swim  at  any  time  he  liked.  He 
thought  of  his  band  of  boy  companions  over  whom 
he  was  despot;  and,  above  all,  the  memory  of  that 
tyrant  mother  of  his,  who  had  such  a  prejudice 
against  him,  occupied  him  day  and  night.  A  kind 
of  physical  love  like  that  of  animals;  a  longing  to 
be  in  the  presence  of  the  one  who  is  loved;  an  inex- 
pressible wistfulness  during  absence;  a  silent  cry  of 
the  inmost  heart  for  the  mother,  like  the  lowing  of 
a  calf  in  the  twilight;  —  this  love,  which  was  almost 


THE  HOME-COMING  67 

an  animal  instinct,  agitated  the  shy,  nervous,  lean, 
uncouth  and  ugly  boy.  No  one  could  understand 
it,  but  it  preyed  upon  his  mind  continually. 

There  was  no  more  backward  boy  in  the  whole 
school  than  Phatik.  He  gaped  and  remained  silent 
when  the  teacher  asked  him  a  question,  and  like  an 
overladen  ass  patiently  suffered  all  the  blows  that 
came  down  on  his  back.  When  other  boys  were  out 
at  play,  he  stood  wistfully  by  the  window  and  gazed 
at  the  roofs  of  the  distant  houses.  And  if  by  chance 
he  espied  children  playing  on  the  open  terrace  of 
any  roof,  his  heart  would  ache  with  longing. 

One  day  he  summoned  up  all  his  courage,  and 
asked  his  uncle:  "Uncle,  when  can  I  go  home?" 

His  uncle  answered:  "Wait  till  the  holidays 
come." 

But  the  holidays  would  not  come  till  November, 
and  there  was  a  long  time  still  to  wait. 

One  day  Phatik  lost  his  lesson-book.  Even  with 
the  help  of  books  he  had  found  it  very  difficult 
indeed  to  prepare  his  lesson.  Now  it  was  impos- 
sible. Day  after  day  the  teacher  would  cane  him 
unmercifully.  His  condition  became  so  abjectly 
miserable  that  even  his  cousins  were  ashamed  to  own 
him.  They  began  to  jeer  and  insult  him  more  than 


68  THE  HOME-COMING 

the  other  boys.  He  went  to  his  aunt  at  last,  and 
told  her  that  he  had  lost  his  book. 

His  aunt  pursed  her  lips  in  contempt,  and  said: 
"  You  great  clumsy,  country  lout.  How  can  I 
afford,  with  all  my  family,  to  buy  you  new  books 
five  times  a  month?  " 

That  night,  on  his  way  back  from  school,  Phatik 
had  a  bad  headache  with  a  fit  of  shivering.  He 
felt  he  was  going  to  have  an  attack  of  malarial  fever. 
His  one  great  fear  was  that  he  would  be  a  nuisance 
to  his  aunt. 

The  next  morning  Phatik  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
All  searches  in  the  neighbourhood  proved  futile. 
The  rain  had  been  pouring  in  torrents  all  night,  and 
those  who  went  out  in  search  of  the  boy  got  drenched 
through  to  the  skin.  At  last  Bishamber  asked  help 
from  the  police. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  a  police  van  stopped  at 
the  door  before  the  house.  It  was  still  raining  and 
the  streets  were  all  flooded.  Two  constables 
brought  out  Phatik  in  their  arms  and  placed  him 
before  Bishamber.  He  was  wet  through  from  head 
to  foot,  muddy  all  over,  his  face  and  eyes  flushed 
red  with  fever,  and  his  limbs  all  trembling.  Bis- 
hamber carried  him  in  his  arms,  and  took  him  into 


THE  HOME-COMING  69 

the  inner  apartments.  When  his  wife  saw  him,  she 
exclaimed :  "  What  a  heap  of  trouble  this  boy  has 
given  us.  Hadn't  you  better  send  him  home?  " 

Phatik  heard  her  words,  and  sobbed  out  loud: 
"Uncle,  I  was  just  going  home;  but  they  dragged 
me  back  again." 

The  fever  rose  very  high,  and  all  that  night  the 
boy  was  delirious.  Bishamber  brought  in  a  doctor. 
Phatik  opened  his  eyes  flushed  with  fever,  and 
looked  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  said  vacantly:  "  Uncle, 
have  the  holidays  come  yet?  May  I  go  home?  " 

Bishamber  wiped  the  tears  from  his  own  eyes, 
and  took  Phatik's  lean  and  burning  hands  in  his  own, 
and  sat  by  him  through  the  night.  The  boy  began 
again  to  mutter.  At  last  his  voice  became  excited: 
"Mother,"  he  cried,  "don't  beat  me  like  that! 
Mother!  I  am  telling  the  truth!  " 

The  next  day  Phatik  became  conscious  for  a  short 
time.  He  turned  his  eyes  about  the  room,  as  if  ex- 
pecting some  one  to  come.  At  last,  with  an  air  of 
disappointment,  his  head  sank  back  on  the  pillow. 
He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Bishamber  knew  his  thoughts,  and,  bending  down 
his  head,  whispered:  "  Phatik,  I  have  sent  for  your 
mother." 


70  THE  HOME-COMING 

The  day  went  by.  The  doctor  said  in  a  troubled 
voice  that  the  boy's  condition  was  very  critical. 

Phatik  began  to  cry  out:  "  By  the  mark!  —  three 
fathoms.  By  the  mark  —  four  fathoms.  By  the 
mark ."  He  had  heard  the  sailor  on  the  river- 
steamer  calling  out  the  mark  on  the  plumb-line. 
Now  he  was  himself  plumbing  an  unfathomable  sea. 

Later  in  the  day  Phatik's  mother  burst  into  the 
room  like  a  whirlwind,  and  began  to  toss  from  side 
to  side  and  moan  and  cry  in  a  loud  voice. 

Bishamber  tried  to  calm  her  agitation,  but  she 
flung  herself  on  the  bed,  and  cried:  "Phatik,  my 
darling,  my  darling." 

Phatik  stopped  his  restless  movements  for  a  mo- 
ment. His  hands  ceased  beating  up  and  down. 
He  said:  "  Eh?  " 

The  mother  cried  again :  "  Phatik,  my  darling, 
my  darling." 

Phatik  very  slowly  turned  his  head  and,  without 
seeing  anybody,  said:  "Mother,  the  holidays  have 


come." 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 


RAICHARAN  was  twelve  years  old  when  he  came 
as  a  servant  to  his  master's  house.  He  belonged  to 
the  same  caste  as  his  master,  and  was  given  his  mas- 
ter's little  son  to  nurse.  As  time  went  on  the  boy 
left  Raicharan's  arms  to  go  to  school.  From  school 
he  went  on  to  college,  and  after  college  he  entered 
the  judicial  service.  Always,  until  he  married, 
Raicharan  was  his  sole  attendant. 

But,  when  a  mistress  came  into  the  house, 
Raicharan  found  two  masters  instead  of  one.  All 
his  former  influence  passed  to  the  new  mistress. 
This  was  compensated  for  by  a  fresh  arrival. 
Anukul  had  a  son  born  to  him,  and  Raicharan  by 
his  unsparing  attentions  soon  got  a  complete  hold 
over  the  child.  He  used  to  toss  him  up  in  his  arms, 
call  to  him  in  absurd  baby  language,  put  his  face 
close  to  the  baby's  and  draw  it  away  again  with  a 
grin. 

73 


74  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

Presently  the  child  was  able  to  crawl  and  cross 
the  doorway.  When  Raicharan  went  to  catch  him, 
he  would  scream  with  mischievous  laughter  and 
make  for  safety.  Raicharan  was  amazed  at  the  pro- 
found skill  and  exact  judgment  the  baby  showed 
when  pursued.  He  would  say  to  his  mistress  with 
a  look  of  awe  and  mystery:  "Your  son  will  be  a 
judge  some  day." 

New  wonders  came  in  their  turn.  When  the 
baby  began  to  toddle,  that  was  to  Raicharan  an 
epoch  in  human  history.  When  he  called  his  father 
Ba-ba  and  his  mother  Ma-ma  and  Raicharan 
Chan-na,  then  Raicharan's  ecstasy  knew  no  bounds. 
He  went  out  to  tell  the  news  to  all  the  world. 

After  a  while  Raicharan  was  asked  to  show  his 
ingenuity  in  other  ways.  He  had,  for  instance,  to 
play  the  part  of  a  horse,  holding  the  reins  between 
his  teeth  and  prancing  with  his  feet.  He  had  also 
to  wrestle  with  his  little  charge,  and  if  he  could  not, 
by  a  wrestler's  trick,  fall  on  his  back  defeated  at  the 
end,  a  great  outcry  was  certain. 

About  this  time  Anukul  was  transferred  to  a 
district  on  the  banks  of  the  Padma.  On  his  way 
through  Calcutta  he  bought  his  son  a  little  go-cart. 
He  bought  him  also  a  yellow  satin  waistcoat,  a  gold- 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  75 

laced  cap,  and  some  gold  bracelets  and  anklets. 
Raicharan  was  wont  to  take  these  out,  and  put  them 
on  his  little  charge  with  ceremonial  pride,  whenever 
they  went  for  a  walk. 

Then  came  the  rainy  season,  and  day  after  day 
the  rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  The  hungry 
river,  like  an  enormous  serpent,  swallowed  down  ter- 
races, villages,  cornfields,  and  covered  with  its  flood 
the  tall  grasses  and  wild  casuarinas  on  the  sand- 
banks. From  time  to  time  there  was  a  deep  thud, 
as  the  river-banks  crumbled.  The  unceasing  roar 
of  the  main  current  could  be  heard  from  far  away. 
Masses  of  foam,  carried  swiftly  past,  proved  to  the 
eye  the  swiftness  of  the  stream. 

One  afternoon  the  rain  cleared.  It  was  cloudy, 
but  cool  and  bright.  Raicharan's  little  despot  did 
not  want  to  stay  in  on  such  a  fine  afternoon.  His 
lordship  climbed  into  the  go-cart.  Raicharan,  be- 
tween the  shafts,  dragged  him  slowly  along  till  he 
reached  the  rice-fields  on  the  banks  of  the  river. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  fields,  and  no  boat  on  the 
stream.  Across  the  water,  on  the  farther  side,  the 
clouds  were  rifted  in  the  west.  The  silent  ceremon- 
ial of  the  setting  sun  was  revealed  in  all  its  glowing 
splendour.  In  the  midst  of  that  stillness  the  child, 


76  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

all  of  a  sudden,  pointed  with  his  finger  in  front  of 
him  and  cried:  "  Chan-na !  Pitty  fow." 

Close  by  on  a  mud-flat  stood  a  large  Kactamba 
tree  in  full  flower.  My  lord,  the  baby,  looked  at 
it  with  greedy  eyes,  and  Raicharan  knew  his  mean- 
ing. Only  a  short  time  before  he  had  made,  out 
of  these  very  flower  balls,  a  small  go-cart;  and  the 
child  had  been  so  entirely  happy  dragging  it  about 
with  a  string,  that  for  the  whole  day  Raicharan  was 
not  made  to  put  on  the  reins  at  all.  He  was  pro- 
moted from  a  horse  into  a  groom. 

But  Raicharan  had  no  wish  that  evening  to  go 
splashing  knee-deep  through  the  mud  to  reach  the 
flowers.  So  he  quickly  pointed  his  finger  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  calling  out:  "  Oh,  look,  baby,  look! 
Look  at  the  bird."  And  with  all  sorts  of  curious 
noises  he  pushed  the  go-cart  rapidly  away  from  the 
tree. 

But  a  child,  destined  to  be  a  judge,  cannot  be  put 
off  so  easily.  And  besides,  there  was  at  the  time 
nothing  to  attract  his  eyes.  And  you  cannot  keep 
up  for  ever  the  pretence  of  an  imaginary  bird. 

The  little  Master's  mind  was  made  up,  and 
Raicharan  was  at  his  wits'  end.  '  Very  well,  baby," 
he  said  at  last,  "  you  sit  still  in  the  cart,  and  I'll  go 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  77 

and  get  you  the  pretty  flower.  Only  mind  you  don't 
go  near  the  water." 

As  he  said  this,  he  made  his  legs  bare  to  the  knee, 
and  waded  through  the  oozing  mud  towards  the  tree. 

LThe  moment  Raicharan  had  gone,  his  little  Master 
went  off  at  racing  speed  to  the  forbidden  water. 
The  baby  saw  the  river  rushing  by,  splashing  and 
gurgling  as  it  went.  It  seemed  as  though  the  dis- 
obedient wavelets  themselves  were  running  away 
from  some  greater  Raicharan  with  the  laughter  of  a 
thousand  children.  At  the  sight  of  their  mischief, 
the  heart  of  the  human  child  grew  excited  and  rest- 
less. He  got  down  stealthily  from  the  go-cart  and 
toddled  off  towards  the  river.  On  his  way  he  picked 
up  a  small  stick,  and  leant  over  the  bank  of  the 
stream  pretending  to  fish.  The  mischievous  fairies 
of  the  river  with  their  mysterious  voices  seemed  in- 
viting him  into  their  play-house. 

Raicharan  had  plucked  a  handful  of  flowers  from 
the  tree,  and  was  carrying  them  back  in  the  end  of 
his  cloth,  with  his  face  wreathed  in  smiles.  But 
when  he  reached  the  go-cart,  there  was  no  one  there. 
He  looked  on  all  sides  and  there  was  no  one  there. 
He  looked  back  at  the  cart  and  there  was  no  one 
there. 


78  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

In  that  first  terrible  moment  his  blood  froze 
within  him.  Before  his  eyes  the  whole  universe 
swam  round  like  a  dark  mist.  From  the  depth  of 
his  broken  heart  he  gave  one  piercing  cry:  "  Master, 
Master,  little  Master." 

But  no  voice  answered  "  Chan-na."  No  child 
laughed  mischievously  back;  no  scream  of  baby  de- 
light welcomed  his  return.  Only  the  river  ran  on, 
with  its  splashing,  gurgling  noise  as  before, —  as 
though  it  knew  nothing  at  all,  and  had  no  time  to 
attend  to  such  a  tiny  human  event  as  the  death  of  a 
child. 

As  the  evening  passed  by  Raicharan's  mistress 
became  very  anxious.  She  sent  men  out  on  all  sides 
to  search.  They  went  with  lanterns  in  their  hands, 
and  reached  at  last  the  banks  of  the  Padma.  There 
they  found  Raicharan  rushing  up  and  down  the  fields, 
like  a  stormy  wind,  shouting  the  cry  of  despair: 
"  Master,  Master,  little  Master!  " 

When  they  got  Raicharan  home  at  last,  he  fell 
prostrate  at  his  mistress's  feet.  They  shook  him, 
and  questioned  him,  and  asked  him  repeatedly  where 
he  had  left  the  child;  but  all  he  could  say  was,  that 
he  knew  nothing. 

Though    every    one    held    the    opinion    that    the 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  79 

Padma  had  swallowed  the  child,  there  was  a  lurk- 
ing doubt  left  in  the  mind.  For  a  band  of  gipsies 
had  been  noticed  outside  the  village  that  afternoon, 
and  some  suspicion  rested  on  them.  The  mother 
went  so  far  in  her  wild  grief  as  to  think  it  possible 
that  Raicharan  himself  had  stolen  the  child.  She 
called  him  aside  with  piteous  entreaty  and  said: 
"  Raicharan,  give  me  back  my  baby.  Oh!  give  me 
back  my  child.  Take  from  me  any  money  you  ask, 
but  give  me  back  my  child !  " 

Raicharan  only  beat  his  forehead  in  reply.  His 
mistress  ordered  him  out  of  the  house. 

Anukul  tried  to  reason  his  wife  out  of  this  wholly 
unjust  suspicion:  "  Why  on  earth,"  he  said,  "  should 
he  commit  such  a  crime  as  that?  " 

The  mother  only  replied:  "The  baby  had  gold 
ornaments  on  his  body.  Who  knows?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  reason  with  her  after  that. 

II 

Raicharan  went  back  to  his  own  village.  Up  to 
this  time  he  had  had  no  son,  and  there  was  no  hope 
that  any  child  would  now  be  born  to  him.  But  it 
came  about  before  the  end  of  a  year  that  his  wife 
gave  birth  to  a  son  and  died. 


8o 

An  overwhelming  resentment  at  first  grew  up 
in  Raicharan's  heart  at  the  sight  of  this  new  baby. 
At  the  back  of  his  mind  was  resentful  suspicion  that 
it  had  come  as  a  usurper  in  place  of  the  little  Master. 
He  also  thought  it  would  be  a  grave  offence  to  be 
happy  with  a  son  of  his  own  after  what  had  hap- 
pened to  his  master's  little  child.  Indeed,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  widowed  sister,  who  mothered  the 
new  baby,  it  would  not  have  lived  long. 

But  a  change  gradually  came  over  Raicharan's 
mind.  A  wonderful  thing  happened.  This  new 
baby  in  turn  began  to  crawl  about,  and  cross  the 
doorway  with  mischief  in  its  face.  It  also  showed 
an  amusing  cleverness  in  making  its  escape  to  safety. 
Its  voice,  its  sounds  of  laughter  and  tears,  its  ges- 
tures, were  those  of  the  little  Master.  On  some 
days,  when  Raicharan  listened  to  its  crying,  his  heart 
suddenly  began  thumping  wildly  against  his  ribs, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  former  little  Master 
was  crying  somewhere  in  the  unknown  land  of  death 
because  he  had  lost  his  Chan-na. 

Phailna  (for  that  was  the  name  Raicharan's  sister 
gave  to  the  new  baby)  soon  began  to  talk.  It  learnt 
to  say  Ba-ba  and  Ma-ma  with  a  baby  accent.  When 
Raicharan  heard  those  familiar  sounds  the  mystery 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  Si 

suddenly  became  clear.  The  little  Master  could  not 
cast  off  the  spell  of  his  Chan-na,  and  therefore  he 
had  been  reborn  in  his  own  house. 

The  arguments  in  favour  of  this  were,  to  Raich- 
aran,  altogether  beyond  dispute : 

(i.)  The  new  baby  was  born  soon  after  his  little 
master's  death. 

(ii.)  His  wife  could  never  have  accumulated  such 
merit  as  to  give  birth  to  a  son  in  middle  age. 

(iii.)  The  new  baby  walked  with  a  toddle  and 
called  out  Ba-ba  and  Ma-ma.  There  was  no  sign 
lacking  which  marked  out  the  future  judge. 

Then  suddenly  Raicharan  remembered  that  ter- 
rible accusation  of  the  mother.  "  Ah,"  he  said  to 
himself  with  amazement,  "  the  mother's  heart  was 
right.  She  knew  I  had  stolen  her  child."  When 
once  he  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  he  was  filled 
with  remorse  for  his  past  neglect.  He  now  gave 
himself  over,  body  and  soul,  to  the  new  baby,  and 
became  its  devoted  attendant.  He  began  to  bring  it 
up,  as  if  it  were  the  son  of  a  rich  man.  He  bought 
a  go-cart,  a  yellow  satin  waistcoat,  and  a  gold- 
embroidered  cap.  He  melted  down  the  ornaments 
of  his  dead  wife,  and  made  gold  bangles  and  anklets. 
He  refused  to  let  the  little  child  play  with  any  one 


82  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

of  the  neighbourhood,  and  became  himself  its  sole 
companion  day  and  night.  As  the  baby  grew  up 
to  boyhood,  he  was  so  petted  and  spoilt  and  clad 
in  such  finery  that  the  village  children  would  call  him 
"  Your  Lordship,"  and  jeer  at  him;  and  older  peo- 
ple regarded  Raicharan  as  unaccountably  crazy  about 
the  child. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  the  boy  to  go  to  school. 
Raicharan  sold  his  small  piece  of  land,  and  went  to 
Calcutta.  There  he  got  employment  with  great 
difficulty  as  a  servant,  and  sent  Phailna  to  school. 
He  spared  no  pains  to  give  him  the  best  education, 
the  best  clothes,  the  best  food.  Meanwhile  he  lived 
himself  on  a  mere  handful  of  rice,  and  would  say 
in  secret:  "Ah!  my  little  Master,  my  dear  little 
Master,  you  loved  me  so  much  that  you  came  back 
to  my  house.  You  shall  never  suffer  from  any  neg- 
lect of  mine." 

Twelve  years  passed  away  in  this  manner.  The 
boy  was  able  to  read  and  write  well.  He  was  bright 
and  healthy  and  good-looking.  He  paid  a  great 
deal  of  attention  to  his  personal  appearance,  and 
was  specially  careful  in  parting  his  hair.  He  was 
inclined  to  extravagance  and  finery,  and  spent  money 
freely.  He  could  never  quite  look  on  Raicharan 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  83 

as  a  father,  because,  though  fatherly  in  affection,  he 
had  the  manner  of  a  servant.  A  further  fault  was 
this,  that  Raicharan  kept  secret  from  every  one  that 
himself  was  the  father  of  the  child. 

The  students  of  the  hostel,  where  Phailna  was  a 
boarder,  were  greatly  amused  by  Raicharan's  coun- 
try manners,  and  I  have  to  confess  that  behind  his 
father's  back  Phailna  joined  in  their  fun.  But,  in 
the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  all  the  students  loved 
the  innocent  and  tender-hearted  old  man,  and 
Phailna  was  very  fond  of  him  also.  But,  as  I  have 
said  before,  he  loved  him  with  a  kind  of  con- 
descension. 

Raicharan  grew  older  and  older,  and  his  employer 
was  continually  finding  fault  with  him  for  his  incom- 
petent work.  He  had  been  starving  himself  for  the 
boy's  sake.  So  he  had  grown  physically  weak,  and 
no  longer  up  to  his  work.  He  would  forget  things, 
and  his  mind  became  dull  and  stupid.  But  his  em- 
ployer expected  a  full  servant's  work  out  of  him, 
and  would  not  brook  excuses.  The  money  that 
Raicharan  had  brought  with  him  from  the  sale  of 
his  land  was  exhausted.  The  boy  was  continually 
grumbling  about  his  clothes,  and  asking  for  more 
money. 


84  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

in 

Raicharan  made  up  his  mind.  He  gave  up  the 
situation  where  he  was  working  as  a  servant,  and  left 
some  money  with  Phailna  and  said:  "  I  have  some 
business  to  do  at  home  in  my  village,  and  shall  be 
back  soon." 

He  went  off  at  once  to  Baraset  where  Anukul  was 
magistrate.  Anukul's  wife  was  still  broken  down 
with  grief.  She  had  had  no  other  child. 

One  day  Anukul  was  resting  after  a  long  and 
weary  day  in  court.  His  wife  was  buying,  at  an 
exorbitant  price,  a  herb  from  a  mendicant  quack, 
which  was  said  to  ensure  the  birth  of  a  child.  A 
voice  of  greeting  was  heard  in  the  courtyard. 
Anukul  went  out  to  see  who  was  there.  It  was 
Raicharan.  Anukul's  heart  was  softened  when  he 
saw  his  old  servant.  He  asked  him  many  questions, 
and  offered  to  take  him  back  into  service. 

Raicharan  smiled  faintly,  and  said  in  reply:  "I 
want  to  make  obeisance  to  my  mistress." 

Anukul  went  with  Raicharan  into  the  house,  where 
the  mistress  did  not  receive  him  as  warmly  as  his 
old  master.  Raicharan  took  no  notice  of  this,  but 
folded  his  hands,  and  said:  "  It  was  not  the  Padma 
that  stole  your  baby.  It  was  I." 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  85 

Anukul  exclaimed:  "Great  God!  Eh!  What! 
Where  is  he?" 

Raicharan  replied:  "  He  is  with  me.  I  will  bring 
him  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

It  was  Sunday.  There  was  no  magistrate's  court 
sitting.  Both  husband  and  wife  were  looking  ex- 
pectantly along  the  road,  waiting  from  early  morn- 
ing for  Raicharan's  appearance.  At  ten  o'clock  he 
came,  leading  Phailna  by  the  hand. 

Anukul's  wife,  without  a  question,  took  the  boy 
into  her  lap,  and  was  wild  with  excitement,  some- 
times laughing,  sometimes  weeping,  touching  him, 
kissing  his  hair  and  his  forehead,  and  gazing  into 
his  face  with  hungry,  eager  eyes.  The  boy  was  very 
good-looking  and  dressed  like  a  gentleman's  son. 
The  heart  of  Anukul  brimmed  over  with  a  sudden 
rush  of  affection. 

Nevertheless  the  magistrate  in  him  asked:  "  Have 
you  any  proofs?  " 

Raicharan  said:  "  How  could  there  be  any  proof 
of  such  a  deed?  God  alone  knows  that  I  stole  your 
boy,  and  no  one  else  in  the  world." 

When  Anukul  saw  how  eagerly  his  wife  was 
clinging  to  the  boy,  he  realised  the  futility  of  asking 
for  proofs.  It  would  be  wiser  to  believe.  And 


86  MY  LORD,  THE  BABY 

then  —  where  could  an  old  man  like  Raicharan  get 
such  a  boy  from?  And  why  should  his  faithful 
servant  deceive  him  for  nothing? 

"  But,"  he  added  severely,  "  Raicharan,  you  must 
not  stay  here." 

"  Where  shall  I  go,  Master?  "  said  Raicharan,  in 
a  choking  voice,  folding  his  hands;  "I  am  old. 
Who  will  take  in  an  old  man  as  a  servant?  " 

The  mistress  said:  "  Let  him  stay.  My  child  will 
be  pleased.  I  forgive  him." 

But  Anukul's  magisterial  conscience  would  not 
allow  him.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  he  cannot  be  forgiven 
for  what  he  has  done." 

Raicharan  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  clasped 
Anukul's  feet.  "  Master,"  he  cried,  "  let  me  stay. 
It  was  not  I  who  did  it.  It  was  God." 

Anukul's  conscience  was  worse  stricken  than  ever, 
when  Raicharan  tried  to  put  the  blame  on  God's 
shoulders. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  allow  it.  I  cannot 
trust  you  any  more.  You  have  done  an  act  of 
treachery." 

Raicharan  rose  to  his  feet  and  said:  "  It  was  not 
I  who  did  it." 

"Who  was  it  then?"  asked  Anukul. 


MY  LORD,  THE  BABY  87 

Raicharan  replied:  "  It  was  my  fate." 

But  no  educated  man  could  take  this  for  an  excuse. 
Anukul  remained  obdurate. 

When  Phailna  saw  that  he  was  the  wealthy  mag- 
istrate's son,  and  not  Raicharan's,  he  was  angry  at 
first,  thinking  that  he  had  been  cheated  all  this  time 
of  his  birthright.  But  seeing  Raicharan  in  distress, 
he  generously  said  to  his  father:  "Father,  forgive 
him.  Even  if  you  don't  let  him  live  with  us,  let  him 
have  a  small  monthly  pension." 

After  hearing  this,  Raicharan  did  not  utter  an- 
other word.  He  looked  for  the  last  time  on  the 
face  of  his  son;  he  made  obeisance  to  his  old  master 
and  mistress.  Then  he  went  out,  and  was  mingled 
with  the  numberless  people  of  the  world. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  Anukul  sent  him  some 
money  to  his  village.  But  the  money  came  back. 
There  was  no  one  there  of  the  name  of  Raicharan. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 


ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  lonely  island  in  a 
distant  sea  where  lived  the  Kings  and  Queens,  the 
Aces  and  the  Knaves,  in  the  Kingdom  of  Cards. 
The  Tens  and  Nines,  with  the  Twos  and  Threes, 
and  all  the  other  members,  had  long  ago  settled 
there  also.  But  these  were  not  twice-born  people, 
like  the  famous  Court  Cards. 

The  Ace,  the  King,  and  the  Knave  were  the  three 
highest  castes.  The  fourth  caste  was  made  up  of 
a  mixture  of  the  lower  Cards.  The  Twos  and 
Threes  were  lowest  of  all.  These  inferior  Cards 
were  never  allowed  to  sit  in  the  same  row  with  the 
great  Court  Cards. 

Wonderful  indeed  were  the  regulations  and  rules 
of  that  island  kingdom.  The  particular  rank  of 
each  individual  had  been  settled  from  time  imme- 
morial. Every  one  had  his  own  appointed  work, 

91 


92  THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

and  never  did  anything  else.  An  unseen  hand  ap- 
peared to  be  directing  them  wherever  they  went, — 
according  to  the  Rules. 

No  one  in  the  Kingdom  of  Cards  had  any  occa- 
sion to  think:  no  one  had  any  need  to  come  to  any 
decision:  no  one  was  ever  required  to  debate  any 
new  subject.  The  citizens  all  moved  along  in  a  list- 
less groove  without  speech.  When  they  fell,  they 
made  no  noise.  They  lay  down  on  their  backs,  and 
gazed  upward  at  the  sky  with  each  prim  feature 
firmly  fixed  for  ever. 

There  was  a  remarkable  stillness  in  the  Kingdom 
of  Cards.  Satisfaction  and  contentment  were  com- 
plete in  all  their  rounded  wholeness.  There  was 
never  any  uproar  or  violence.  There  was  never 
any  excitement  or  enthusiasm. 

The  great  ocean,  crooning  its  lullaby  with  one 
unceasing  melody,  lapped  the  island  to  sleep  with 
a  thousand  soft  touches  of  its  wave's  white  hands. 
The  vast  sky,  like  the  outspread  azure  wings  of  the 
brooding  mother-bird,  nestled  the  island  round  with 
its  downy  plume.  For  on  the  distant  horizon  a  deep 
blue  line  betokened  another  shore.  But  no  sound 
of  quarrel  or  strife  could  reach  the  Island  of  Cards, 
to  break  its  calm  repose. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS  93 

ii 

In  that  far-off  foreign  land  across  the  sea,  there 
lived  a  young  Prince  whose  mother  was  a  sorrowing 
queen.  This  queen  had  fallen  from  favour,  and 
was  living  with  her  only  son  on  the  seashore.  The 
Prince  passed  his  childhood  alone  and  forlorn,  sit- 
ting by  his  forlorn  mother,  weaving  the  net  of  his 
big  desires.  He  longed  to  go  in  search  of  the  Fly- 
ing Horse,  the  jewel  in  the  Cobra's  hood,  the  Rose 
of  Heaven,  the  Magic  Roads,  or  to  find  where  the 
Princess  Beauty  was  sleeping  in  the  Ogre's  castle 
over  the  thirteen  rivers  and  across  the  seven  seas. 

From  the  Son  of  the  Merchant  at  school  the  young 
Prince  learnt  the  stories  of  foreign  kingdoms. 
From  the  Son  of  the  Kotwal  he  learnt  the  adven- 
tures of  the  Two  Genii  of  the  Lamp.  And  when 
the  rain  came  beating  down,  and  the  clouds  covered 
the  sky,  he  would  sit  on  the  threshold  facing  the  sea, 
and  say  to  his  sorrowing  mother:  "  Tell  me,  mother, 
a  story  of  some  very  far-off  land." 

And  his  mother  would  tell  him  an  endless  tale  she 
had  heard  in  her  childhood  of  a  wonderful  country 
beyond  the  sea  where  dwelt  the  Princess  Beauty. 
And  the  heart  of  the  young  Prince  would  become 


94  THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

sick  with  longing,  as  he  sat  on  the  threshold,  look- 
ing out  on  the  ocean,  listening  to  his  mother's  won- 
derful story,  while  the  rain  outside  came  beating 
down  and  the  grey  clouds  covered  the  sky. 

One  day  the  Son  of  the  Merchant  came  to  the 
Prince,  and  said  boldly:  "  Comrade,  my  studies  are 
over.  I  am  now  setting  out  on  my  travels  to  seek 
my  fortunes  on  the  sea.  I  have  come  to  bid  you 
good-bye." 

The  Prince  said:  "  I  will  go  with  you." 

And  the  Son  of  Kotwal  said  also:  "  Comrades, 
trusty  and  true,  you  will  not  leave  me  behind.  I 
also  will  be  your  companion." 

Then  the  young  Prince  said  to  his  sorrowing 
mother:  "Mother,  I  am  now  setting  out  on  my 
travels  to  seek  my  fortune.  When  I  come  back 
once  more,  I  shall  surely  have  found  some  way  to 
remove  all  your  sorrow." 

So  the  Three  Companions  set  out  on  their  travels 
together.  In  the  harbour  were  anchored  the  twelve 
ships  of  the  merchant,  and  the  Three  Companions 
got  on  board.  The  south  wind  was  blowing,  and  the 
twelve  ships  sailed  away,  as  fast  as  the  desires  which 
rose  in  the  Prince's  breast. 

At  the   Conch   Shell   Island  they  filled  one   ship 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS  95 

with  conchs.  At  the  Sandal  Wood  Island  they 
filled  a  second  ship  with  sandal-wood,  and  at  the 
Coral  Island  they  filled  a  third  ship  with  coral. 

Four  years  passed  away,  and  they  filled  four  more 
ships,  one  with  ivory,  one  with  musk,  one  with 
cloves,  and  one  with  nutmegs. 

But  when  these  ships  were  all  loaded  a  terrible 
tempest  arose.  The  ships  were  all  of  them  sunk, 
with  their  cloves  and  nutmeg,  and  musk  and  ivory, 
and  coral  and  sandal-wood  and  conchs.  But  the 
ship  with  the  Three  Companions  struck  on  an  island 
reef,  hurled  them  safe  ashore,  and  itself  broke  in 
pieces. 

This  was  the  famous  Island  of  Cards,  where  lived 
the  Ace  and  King  and  Queen  and  Knave,  with  the 
Nines  and  Tens  and  all  the  other  members  —  ac- 
cording to  the  Rules. 

ill 

Up  till  now  there  had  been  nothing  to  disturb 
that  island  stillness.  No  new  thing  had  ever  hap- 
pened. No  discussion  had  ever  been  held. 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  the  Three  Companions  ap- 
peared, thrown  up  by  the  sea, —  and  the  Great  De- 
bate began.  There  were  three  main  points  of  dispute. 


96  THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

First,  to  what  caste  should  these  unclassed 
strangers  belong?  Should  they  rank  with  the  Court 
Cards?  Or  were  they  merely  lower-caste  people, 
to  be  ranked  with  the  Nines  and  Tens?  No  prec- 
edent could  be  quoted  to  decide  this  weighty  ques- 
tion. 

Secondly,  what  was  their  clan?  Had  they  the 
fairer  hue  and  bright  complexion  of  the  Hearts,  or 
was  theirs  the  darker  complexion  of  the  Clubs? 
Over  this  question  there  were  interminable  disputes. 
The  whole  marriage  system  of  the  island,  with  its 
intricate  regulations,  would  depend  on  its  nice  ad- 
justment. 

Thirdly,  what  food  should  they  take?  With 
whom  should  they  live  and  sleep?  And  should  their 
heads  be  placed  south-west,  north-west,  or  only 
north-east?  In  all  the  Kingdom  of  Cards  a  series 
of  problems  so  vital  and  critical  had  never  been  de- 
bated before. 

But  the  Three  Companions  grew  desperately 
hungry.  They  had  to  get  food  in  some  way  or 
other.  So  while  this  debate  went  on,  with  its  inter- 
minable silence  and  pauses,  and  while  the  Aces 
called  their  own  meeting,  and  formed  themselves 
into  a  Committee,  to  find  some  obsolete  dealing  with 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS  97 

the  question,  the  Three  Companions  themselves  were 
eating  all  they  could  find,  and  drinking  out  of  every 
vessel,  and  breaking  all  regulations. 

Even  the  Twos  and  Threes  were  shocked  at  this 
outrageous  behaviour.  The  Threes  said:  "  Brother 
Twos,  these  people  are  openly  shameless!"  And 
the  Twos  said:  "  Brother  Threes,  they  are  evidently 
of  lower  caste  than  ourselves !  " 

After  their  meal  was  over,  the  Three  Companions 
went  for  a  stroll  in  the  city. 

When  they  saw  the  ponderous  people  moving  in 
their  dismal  processions  with  prim  and  solemn  faces, 
then  the  Prince  turned  to  the  Son  of  the  Merchant 
and  the  Son  of  the  Kotwal,  and  threw  back  his  head, 
and  gave  one  stupendous  laugh. 

Down  Royal  Street  and  across  Ace  Square  and 
along  the  Knave  Embankment  ran  the  quiver  of  this 
strange,  unheard-of  laughter,  the  laughter  that, 
amazed  at  itself,  expired  in  the  vast  vacuum  of 
silence. 

The  Son  of  the  Kotwal  and  the  Son  of  the  Mer- 
chant were  chilled  through  to  the  bone  by  the  ghost- 
like stillness  around  them.  They  turned  to  the 
Prince,  and  said:  "  Comrade,  let  us  away.  Let  us 
not  stop  for  a  moment  in  this  awful  land  of  ghosts." 


98  THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

But  the  Prince  said:  "  Comrades,  these  people  re- 
semble men,  so  I  am  going  to  find  out,  by  shaking 
them  upside  down  and  outside  in,  whether  they  have 
a  single  drop  of  warm  living  blood  left  in  their 
veins." 

IV 

The  days  passed  one  by  one,  and  the  placid  exist- 
ence of  the  Island  went  on  almost  without  a  ripple. 
The  Three  Companions  obeyed  no  rules  nor  regula- 
tions. They  never  did  anything  correctly  either  in 
sitting  or  standing  or  turning  themselves  round  or 
lying  on  their  back.  On  the  contrary,  wherever  they 
saw  these  things  going  on  precisely  and  exactly  ac- 
cording to  the  Rules,  they  gave  way  to  inordinate 
laughter.  They  remained  unimpressed  altogether 
by  the  eternal  gravity  of  those  eternal  regulations. 

One  day  the  great  Court  Cards  came  to  the  Son 
of  the  Kotwal  and  the  Son  of  the  Merchant  and  the 
Prince. 

"  Why,"  they  asked  slowly,  "  are  you  not  moving 
according  to  the  Rules?  " 

The  Three  Companions  answered:  "  Because  that 
is  our  Ichcha  (wish)." 

The  great  Court  Cards  with  hollow,  cavernous 
voices,  as  if  slowly  awakening  from  an  age-long 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS  99 

dream,  said  together :  "  Ich-cha!  And  pray  who  is 
Ich-cha?  " 

They  could  not  understand  who  Ichcha  was  then, 
but  the  whole  island  was  to  understand  it  by-and-by. 

The  first  glimmer  of  light  passed  the  threshold 
of  their  minds  when  they  found  out,  through  watch- 
ing the  actions  of  the  Prince,  that  they  might  move 
in  a  straight  line  in  an  opposite  direction  from  the 
one  in  which  they  had  always  gone  before.  Then 
they  made  another  startling  discovery,  that  there 
was  another  side  to  the  Cards  which  they  had  never 
yet  noticed  with  attention.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  the  change. 

Now  that  the  change  had  begun,  the  Three  Com- 
panions were  able  to  initiate  them  more  and  more 
deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  Ichcha.  The  Cards 
gradually  became  aware  that  life  was  not  bound  by 
regulations.  They  began  to  feel  a  secret  satisfac- 
tion in  the  kingly  power  of  choosing  for  themselves. 

But  with  this  first  impact  of  Ichcha  the  whole  pack 
of  cards  began  to  totter  slowly,  and  then  tumble 
down  to  the  ground.  The  scene  was  like  that  of 
some  huge  python  awaking  from  a  long  sleep,  as  it 
slowly  unfolds  its  numberless  coils  with  a  quiver  that 
runs  through  its  whole  frame. 


ioo         THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

v 

Hitherto  the  Queens  of  Spades  and  Clubs  and 
Diamonds  and  Hearts  had  remained  behind  curtains 
with  eyes  that  gazed  vacantly  into  space,  or  else  re- 
mained fixed  upon  the  ground. 

And  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  on  an  afternoon  in 
spring  the  Queen  of  Hearts  from  the  balcony  raised 
her  dark  eyebrows  for  a  moment,  and  cast  a  single 
glance  upon  the  Prince  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  Great  God,"  cried  the  Prince,  "  I  thought  they 
were  all  painted  images.  But  I  am  wrong.  They 
are  women  after  all." 

Then  the  young  Prince  called  to  his  side  his  two 
Companions,  and  said  in  a  meditative  voice:  "  My 
comrades !  There  is  a  charm  about  these  ladies 
that  I  never  noticed  before.  When  I  saw  that 
glance  of  the  Queen's  dark,  luminous  eyes,  bright- 
ening with  new  emotion,  it  seemed  to  me  like  the 
first  faint  streak  of  dawn  in  a  newly  created  world." 

The  two  Companions  smiled  a  knowing  smile,  and 
said:  "  Is  that  really  so,  Prince?  " 

And  the  poor  Queen  of  Hearts  from  that  day 
went  from  bad  to  worse.  She  began  to  forget  all 
rules  in  a  truly  scandalous  manner.  If,  for  instance, 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS         101 

her  place  in  the  row  was  beside  the  Knave,  she  sud- 
denly found  herself  quite  accidentally  standing  be- 
side the  Prince  instead.  At  this,  the  Knave,  with 
motionless  face  and  solemn  voice,  would  say: 
"  Queen,  you  have  made  a  mistake." 

And  the  poor  Queen  of  Hearts'  red  cheeks  would 
get  redder  than  ever.  But  the  Prince  would  come 
gallantly  to  her  rescue  and  say:  "No!  There  is 
no  mistake.  From  to-day  I  am  going  to  be 
Knave!" 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that,  while  every  one  was 
trying  to  correct  the  improprieties  of  the  guilty 
Queen  of  Hearts,  they  began  to  make  mistakes  them- 
selves. The  Aces  found  themselves  elbowed  out 
by  the  Kings.  The  Kings  got  muddled  up  with  the 
Knaves.  The  Nines  and  Tens  assumed  airs  as 
though  they  belonged  to  the  Great  Court  Cards. 
The  Twos  and  Threes  were  found  secretly  taking 
the  places  specially  reserved  for  the  Fours  and 
Fives.  Confusion  had  never  been  so  confounded 
before. 

Many  spring  seasons  had  come  and  gone  in  that 
Island  of  Cards.  The  Kokil,  the  bird  of  Spring, 
had  sung  its  song  year  after  year.  But  it  had  never 
stirred  the  blood  as  it  stirred  it  now.  In  days  gone 


102         THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

by  the  sea  had  sung  its  tireless  melody.  But,  then, 
it  had  proclaimed  only  the  inflexible  monotony  of 
the  Rule.  And  suddenly  its  waves  were  telling, 
through  all  their  flashing  light  and  luminous  shade 
and  myriad  voices,  the  deepest  yearnings  of  the 
heart  of  love ! 

VI 

Where  are  vanished  now  their  prim,  round,  reg- 
ular, complacent  features?  Here  is  a  face  full  of 
love-sick  longing.  Here  is  a  heart  beating  wild 
with  regrets.  Here  is  a  mind  racked  sore  with 
doubts.  Music  and  sighing,  and  smiles  and  tears, 
are  filling  the  air.  Life  is  throbbing;  hearts  are 
breaking;  passions  are  kindling. 

Every  one  is  now  thinking  of  his  own  appearance, 
and  comparing  himself  with  others.  The  Ace  of 
Clubs  is  musing  to  himself,  that  the  King  of  Spades 
may  be  just  passably  good-looking.  "  But,"  says 
he,  "  when  I  walk  down  the  street  you  have  only 
to  see  how  people's  eyes  turn  towards  me."  The 
King  of  Spades  is  saying:  "Why  on  earth  is  that 
Ace  of  Clubs  always  straining  his  neck  and  strutting 
about  like  a  peacock?  He  imagines  all  the  Queens 
are  dying  of  love  for  him,  while  the  real  fact 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS          103 

is "  Here  he  pauses,  and  examines  his  face  in 

the  glass. 

But  the  Queens  were  the  worst  of  all.  They 
began  to  spend  all  their  time  in  dressing  themselves 
up  to  the  Nines.  And  the  Nines  would  become  their 
hopeless  and  abject  slaves.  But  their  cutting  re- 
marks about  one  another  were  more  shocking  still. 

So  the  young  men  would  sit  listless  on  the  leaves 
under  the  trees,  lolling  with  outstretched  limbs  in 
the  forest  shade.  And  the  young  maidens,  dressed 
in  pale-blue  robes,  would  come  walking  accidentally 
to  the  same  shade  of  the  same  forest  by  the  same 
trees,  and  turn  their  eyes  as  though  they  saw  no  one 
there,  and  look  as  though  they  came  out  to  see 
nothing  at  all.  And  then  one  young  man  more  for- 
ward than  the  rest  in  a  fit  of  madness  would  dare  to 
go  near  to  a  maiden  in  blue.  But,  as  he  drew  near, 
speech  would  forsake  him.  He  would  stand  there 
tongue-tied  and  foolish,  and  the  favourable  moment 
would  pass. 

The  Kokil  birds  were  singing  in  the  boughs  over- 
head. The  mischievous  South  wind  was  blowing; 
it  disarrayed  the  hair,  it  whispered  in  the  ear,  and 
stirred  the  music  in  the  blood.  The  leaves  of  the 
trees  were  murmuring  with  rustling  delight.  And 


104         THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

the  ceaseless  sound  of  the  ocean  made  all  the  mute 
longings  of  the  heart  of  man  and  maid  surge  back- 
wards and  forwards  on  the  full  springtide  of  love. 
The  Three  Companions  had  brought  into  the 
dried-up  channels  of  the  Kingdom  of  Cards  the  full 
flood-tide  of  a  new  life. 


And,  though  the  tide  was  full,  there  was  a  pause 
as  though  the  rising  waters  would  not  break  into 
foam  but  remain  suspended  for  ever.  There  were 
no  outspoken  words,  only  a  cautious  going  forward 
one  step  and  receding  two.  All  seemed  busy  heap- 
ing up  their  unfulfilled  desires  like  castles  in  the  air, 
or  fortresses  of  sand.  They  were  pale  and  speech- 
less, their  eyes  were  burning,  their  lips  trembling 
with  unspoken  secrets. 

The  Prince  saw  what  was  wrong.  He  summoned 
every  one  on  the  Island  and  said:  "  Bring  hither 
the  flutes  and  the  cymbals,  the  pipes  and  drums.  Let 
all  be  played  together,  and  raise  loud  shouts  of  re- 
joicing. For  the  Queen  of  Hearts  this  very  night  is 
going  to  choose  her  Mate  !  " 

So  the  Tens  and  Nines  began  to  blow  on  their 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS          105 

flutes  and  pipes;  the  Eights  and  Sevens  played  on 
their  sackbuts  and  viols;  and  even  the  Twos  and 
Threes  began  to  beat  madly  on  their  drums. 

When  this  tumultuous  gust  of  music  came,  it  swept 
away  at  one  blast  all  these  sighings  and  mopings. 
And  then  what  a  torrent  of  laughter  and  words 
poured  forth!  There  were  daring  proposals  and 
mocking  refusals,  and  gossip  and  chatter,  and  jests 
and  merriment.  It  was  like  the  swaying  and  shak- 
ing, and  rustling  and  soughing,  in  a  summer  gale,  of 
a  million  leaves  and  branches  in  the  depth  of  the 
primeval  forest. 

But  the  Queen  of  Hearts,  in  a  rose-red  robe,  sat 
silent  in  the  shadow  of  her  secret  bower,  and  listened 
to  the  great  uproarious  sound  of  music  and  mirth, 
that  came  floating  towards  her.  She  shut  her  eyes, 
and  dreamt  her  dream  of  love.  And  when  she 
opened  them  she  found  the  Prince  seated  on  the 
ground  before  her  gazing  up  at  her  face.  And  she 
covered  her  eyes  with  both  hands,  and  shrank  back 
quivering  with  an  inward  tumult  of  joy. 

And  the  Prince  passed  the  whole  day  alone,  walk- 
ing by  the  side  of  the  surging  sea.  He  carried  in  his 
mind  that  startled  look,  that  shrinking  gesture  of 


io6         THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS 

the    Queen,    and   his   heart   beat   high   with   hope. 

That  night  the  serried,  gaily-dressed  ranks  of 
young  men  and  maidens  waited  with  smiling  faces 
at  the  Palace  Gates.  The  Palace  Hall  was  lighted 
with  fairy  lamps  and  festooned  with  the  flowers  of 
spring.  Slowly  the  Queen  of  Hearts  entered,  and 
the  whole  assembly  rose  to  greet  her.  With  a  jas- 
mine garland  in  her  hand,  she  stood  before  the 
Prince  with  downcast  eyes.  In  her  lowly  bashful- 
ness  she  could  hardly  raise  the  garland  to  the  neck 
of  the  Mate  she  had  chosen.  But  the  Prince  bowed 
his  head,  and  the  garland  slipped  to  its  place.  The 
assembly  of  youths  and  maidens  had  waited  her 
choice  with  eager,  expectant  hush.  And  when  the 
choice  was  made,  the  whole  vast  concourse  rocked 
and  swayed  with  a  tumult  of  wild  delight.  And  the 
sound  of  their  shouts  was  heard  in  every  part  of  the 
Island,  and  by  ships  far  out  at  sea.  Never  had  such 
a  shout  been  raised  in  the  Kingdom  of  Cards 
before. 

And  they  carried  the  Prince  and  his  Bride,  and 
seated  them  on  the  throne,  and  crowned  them  then 
and  there  in  the  Ancient  Island  of  Cards. 

And  the  sorrowing  Mother  Queen,  on  the  far-off 
island  shore  on  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  came  sail- 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  CARDS          107 

ing  to  her  son's  new  kingdom  in  a  ship  adorned 
with  gold. 

And  the  citizens  are  no  longer  regulated  accord- 
ing to  the  Rules,  but  are  good  or  bad,  or  both,  ac- 
cording to  their  Ichcha. 


THE  DEVOTEE 


THE  DEVOTEE 

i 

AT  a  time,  when  my  unpopularity  with  a  part  of  my 
readers  had  reached  the  nadir  of  its  glory,  and  my 
'name  had  become  the  central  orb  of  the  journals,  to 
be  attended  through  space  with  a  perpetual  rotation 
of  revilement,  I  felt  the  necessity  to  retire  to  some 
quiet  place  and  endeavour  to  forget  my  own  exist- 
ence. 

I  have  a  house  in  the  country  some  miles  away 
from  Calcutta,  where  I  can  remain  unknown  and 
unmolested.  The  villagers  there  have  not,  as  yet, 
come  to  any  conclusion  about  me.  They  know  I  am 
no  mere  holiday-maker  or  pleasure-seeker;  for  I 
never  outrage  the  silence  of  the  village  nights  with 
the  riotous  noises  of  the  city.  Nor  do  they  regard 
me  as  an  ascetic,  because  the  little  acquaintance  they 
have  of  me  carries  the  savour  of  comfort  about  it. 
I  am  not,  to  them,  a  traveller;  for,  though  I  am  a 
vagabond  by  nature,  my  wandering  through  the  vil- 
lage fields  is  aimless.  They  are  hardly  even  quite 


ii2  THE  DEVOTEE 

certain  whether  I  am  married  or  single;  for  they 
have  never  seen  me  with  my  children.  So,  not  being 
able  to  classify  me  in  any  animal  or  vegetable  king- 
dom that  they  know,  they  have  long  since  given  me 
up  and  left  me  stolidly  alone. 

But  quite  lately  I  have  come  to  know  that  there 
is  one  person  in  the  village  who  is  deeply  interested 
in  me.  Our  acquaintance  began  on  a  sultry  after- 
noon in  July.  There  had  been  rain  all  the  morning, 
and  the  air  was  still  wet  and  heavy  with  mist,  like 
eyelids  when  weeping  is  over. 

I  sat  lazily  watching  a  dappled  cow  grazing  on 
the  high  bank  of  the  river.  The  afternoon  sun  was 
playing  on  her  glossy  hide.  The  simple  beauty  of 
this  dress  of  light  made  me  wonder  idly  at  man's 
deliberate  waste  of  money  in  setting  up  tailors'  shops 
to  deprive  his  own  skin  of  its  natural  clothing. 

While  I  was  thus  watching  and  lazily  musing,  a 
woman  of  middle  age  came  and  prostrated  herself 
before  me,  touching  the  ground  with  her  forehead. 
She  carried  in  her  robe  some  bunches  of  flowers,  one 
of  which  she  offered  to  me  with  folded  hands.  She 
said  to  me,  as  she  offered  it:  "  This  is  an  offering 
to  my  God." 

She  went  away.     I  was  so  taken  aback  as  she  ut- 


THE  DEVOTEE  113 

tered  these  words,  that  I  could  hardly  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  before  she  was  gone.  The  whole  incident 
was  entirely  simple,  but  it  left  a  deep  impression  on 
my  mind;  and  as  I  turned  back  once  more  to  look  at 
the  cattle  in  the  field,  the  zest  of  life  in  the  cow,  who 
was  munching  the  lush  grass  with  deep  breaths,  while 
she  whisked  off  the  flies,  appeared  to  me  fraught 
with  mystery.  My  readers  may  laugh  at  my  fool- 
ishness, but  my  heart  was  full  of  adoration.  I 
offered  my  worship  to  the  pure  joy  of  living,  which 
is  God's  own  life.  Then,  plucking  a  tender  shoot 
from  the  mango  tree,  I  fed  the  cow  with  it  from  my 
own  hand,  and  as  I  did  this  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  having  pleased  my  God. 

The  next  year  when  I  returned  to  the  village  it 
was  February.  The  cold  season  still  lingered  on. 
The  morning  sun  came  into  my  room,  and  I  was 
grateful  for  its  warmth.  I  was  writing,  when  the 
servant  came  to  tell  me  that  a  devotee,  of  the  Vishnu 
cult,  wanted  to  see  me.  I  told  him,  in  an  absent  way, 
to  bring  her  upstairs,  and  went  on  with  my  writing. 
The  Devotee  came  in,  and  bowed  to  me,  touching 
my  feet.  I  found  that  she  was  the  same  woman 
whom  I  had  met,  for  a  brief  moment,  a  year  ago. 

I  was  able  now  to  examine  her  more  closely.     She 


n4  THE  DEVOTEE 

was  past  that  age  when  one  asks  the  question  whether 
a  woman  is  beautiful  or  not.  Her  stature  was  above 
the  ordinary  height,  and  she  was  strongly  built;  but 
her  body  was  slightly  bent  owing  to  her  constant 
attitude  of  veneration.  Her  manner  had  nothing 
shrinking  about  it.  The  most  remarkable  of  her 
features  were  her  two  eyes.  They  seemed  to  have 
a  penetrating  power  which  could  make  distance  near. 

With  those  two  large  eyes  of  hers,  she  seemed  to 
push  me  as  she  entered. 

"What  is  this?"  she  asked.  "Why  have  you 
brought  me  here  before  your  throne,  my  God?  I 
used  to  see  you  among  the  trees;  and  that  was  much 
better.  That  was  the  true  place  to  meet  you." 

She  must  have  seen  me  walking  in  the  garden 
without  my  seeing  her.  For  the  last  few  days,  how- 
ever, I  had  suffered  from  a  cold,  and  had  been  pre- 
vented from  going  out.  I  had,  perforce,  to  stay 
indoors  and  pay  my  homage  to  the  evening  sky  from 
my  terrace.  After  a  silent  pause  the  Devotee  said 
to  me  :  "  O  my  God,  give  me  some  words  of  good." 

I  was  quite  unprepared  for  this  abrupt  request, 
and  answered  her  on  the  spur  of  the  moment: 
"  Good  words  I  neither  give  nor  receive.  I  simply 
open  my  eyes  and  keep  silence,  and  then  I  can  at  once 


THE  DEVOTEE  115 

both  hear  and  see,  even  when  no  sound  is  uttered. 
Now,  while  I  am  looking  at  you,  it  is  as  good  as  lis- 
tening to  your  voice." 

The  Devotee  became  quite  excited  as  I  spoke,  and 
exclaimed:  "  God  speaks  to  me,  not  only  with  His 
mouth,  but  with  His  whole  body." 

I  said  to  her:  "When  I  am  silent  I  can  listen 
with  my  whole  body.  I  have  come  away  from  Cal- 
cutta here  to  listen  to  that  sound." 

The  Devotee  said:  "Yes,  I  know  that,  and 
therefore  I  have  come  here  to  sit  by  you." 

Before  taking  her  leave,  she  again  bowed  to  me, 
and  touched  my  feet.  I  could  see  that  she  was  dis- 
tressed, because  my  feet  were  covered.  She  wished 
them  to  be  bare. 

Early  next  morning  I  came  out,  and  sat  on  my 
terrace  on  the  roof.  Beyond  the  line  of  trees  south- 
ward I  could  see  the  open  country  chill  and  desolate. 
I  could  watch  the  sun  rising  over  the  sugar-cane  in 
the  East,  beyond  the  clump  of  trees  at  the  side  of 
the  village.  Out  of  the  deep  shadow  of  those  dark 
trees  the  village  road  suddenly  appeared.  It 
stretched  forward,  winding  its  way  to  some  distant 
villages  on  the  horizon,  till  it  was  lost  in  the  grey  of 
the  mist. 


n6  THE  DEVOTEE 

That  morning  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the 
sun  had  risen  or  not.  A  white  fog  was  still  clinging 
to  the  tops  of  the  trees.  I  saw  the  Devotee  walk- 
ing through  the  blurred  dawn,  like  a  mist-wraith  of 
the  morning  twilight.  She  was  singing  her  chant  to 
God,  and  sounding  her  cymbals. 

The  thick  haze  lifted  at  last;  and  the  sun,  like  the 
kindly  grandsire  of  the  village,  took  his  seat  amid 
all  the  work  that  was  going  on  in  home  and  field. 

When  I  had  just  settled  down  at  my  writing-table, 
to  appease  the  hungry  appetite  of  my  editor  in  Cal- 
cutta, there  came  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  stair, 
and  the  Devotee,  humming  a  tune  to  herself,  entered, 
and  bowed  before  me.  I  lifted  my  head  from  my 
papers. 

She  said  to  me:  "  My  God,  yesterday  I  took  as 
sacred  food  what  was  left  over  from  your  meal." 

I  was  startled,  and  asked  her  how  she  could  do 
that. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  waited  at  your  door  in  the 
evening,  while  you  were  at  dinner,  and  took  some 
food  from  your  plate  when  it  was  carried  out." 

This  was  a  surprise  to  me,  for  every  one  in  the 
village  knew  that  I  had  been  to  Europe,  and  had 
eaten  with  Europeans.  I  was  a  vegetarian,  no 


THE  DEVOTEE  117 

doubt,  but  the  sanctity  of  my  cook  would  not  bear 
investigation,  and  the  orthodox  regarded  my  food 
as  polluted. 

The  Devotee,  noticing  my  sign  of  surprise,  said: 
"  My  God,  why  should  I  come  to  you  at  all,  if  I 
could  not  take  your  food?  " 

I  asked  her  what  her  own  caste  people  would  say. 
She  told  me  she  had  already  spread  the  news  far 
and  wide  all  over  the  village.  The  caste  people  had 
shaken  their  heads,  but  agreed  that  she  must  go  her 
own  way. 

I  found  out  that  the  Devotee  came  from  a  good 
family  in  the  country,  and  that  her  mother  was  well- 
to-do,  and  desired  to  keep  her  daughter.  But  she 
preferred  to  be  a  mendicant.  I  asked  her  how  she 
made  her  living.  She  told  me  that  her  followers 
had  given  her  a  piece  of  land,  and  that  she  begged 
her  food  from  door  to  door.  She  said  to  me: 
"  The  food  which  I  get  by  begging  is  divine." 

After  I  had  thought  over  what  she  said,  I  under- 
stood her  meaning.  When  we  get  our  food  pre- 
cariously as  alms,  we  remember  God  the  giver.  But 
when  we  receive  our  food  regularly  at  home,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  we  are  apt  to  regard  it  as  ours  by 
right. 


n8  THE  DEVOTEE 

I  had  a  great  desire  to  ask  her  about  her  husband. 
But  as  she  never  mentioned  him  even  indirectly,  I 
did  not  question  her. 

I  found  out  very  soon  that  the  Devotee  had  no 
respect  at  all  for  that  part  of  the  village  where  the 
people  of  the  higher  castes  lived. 

"  They  never  give,"  she  said,  "  a  single  farthing 
to  God's  service ;  and  yet  they  have  the  largest  share 
of  God's  glebe.  But  the  poor  worship  and  starve." 

I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  go  and  live  among 
these  godless  people,  and  help  them  towards  a  better 
life.  "  That,"  I  said  with  some  unction,  "  would  be 
the  highest  form  of  divine  worship." 

I  had  heard  sermons  of  this  kind  from  time  to 
time,  and  I  am  rather  fond  of  copying  them  myself 
for  the  public  benefit,  when  the  chance  comes. 

But  the  Devotee  was  not  at  all  impressed.  She 
raised  her  big  round  eyes,  and  looked  straight  into 
mine,  and  said: 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  because  God  is  with  the 
sinners,  therefore  when  you  do  them  any  service  you 
do  it  to  God?  Is  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  that  is  my  meaning." 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered  almost  impatiently, 
"  of  course,  God  is  with  them :  otherwise,  how  could 


THE  DEVOTEE  119 

they  go  on  living  at  all?  But  what  is  that  to  me? 
My  God  is  not  there.  My  God  cannot  be  wor- 
shipped among  them;  because  I  do  not  find  Him 
there.  I  seek  Him  where  I  can  find  Him." 

As  she  spoke,  she  made  obeisance  to  me.  What 
she  meant  to  say  was  really  this.  A  mere  doctrine 
of  God's  omnipresence  does  not  help  us.  That  God 
is  all-pervading, —  this  truth  may  be  a  mere  intangi- 
ble abstraction,  and  therefore  unreal  to  ourselves. 
Where  I  can  see  Him,  there  is  His  reality  in  my  soul. 

I  need  not  explain  that  all  the  while  she  showered 
her  devotion  on  me  she  did  it  to  me  not  as  an  indi- 
vidual. I  was  simply  a  vehicle  of  her  divine  wor- 
ship. It  was  not  for  me  either  to  receive  it  or  to 
refuse  it:  for  it  was  not  mine,  but  God's. 

When  the  Devotee  came  again,  she  found  me  once 
more  engaged  with  my  books  and  papers. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,"  she  said,  with  evi- 
dent vexation,  "  that  my  God  should  make  you  under- 
take such  drudgery?  Whenever  I  come,  I  find  you 
reading  and  writing." 

"  God  keeps  his  useless  people  busy,"  I  answered; 
"  otherwise  they  would  be  bound  to  get  into  mis- 
chief. They  have  to  do  all  the  least  necessary 
things  in  life.  It  keeps  them  out  of  trouble." 


120  THE  DEVOTEE 

The  Devotee  told  me  that  she  could  not  bear  the 
encumbrances,  with  which,  day  by  day,  I  was  sur- 
rounded. If  she  wanted  to  see  me,  she  was  not  al- 
lowed by  the  servants  to  come  straight  upstairs.  If 
she  wanted  to  touch  my  feet  in  worship,  there  were 
my  socks  always  in  the  way.  And  when  she  wanted 
to  have  a  simple  talk  with  me,  she  found  my  mind 
lost  in  a  wilderness  of  letters. 

This  time,  before  she  left  me,  she  folded  her 
hands,  and  said:  "My  God!  I  felt  your  feet  in 
my  breast  this  morning.  Oh,  how  cool !  And  they 
were  bare,  not  covered.  I  held  them  upon  my  head 
for  a  long  time  in  worship.  That  filled  my  very 
being.  Then,  after  that,  pray  what  was  the  use  of 
my  coming  to  you  yourself?  Why  did  I  come? 
My  Lord,  tell  me  truly, —  wasn't  it  a  mere  infatu- 
ation?" 

There  were  some  flowers  in  my  vase  on  the  table. 
While  she  was  there,  the  gardener  brought  some 
new  flowers  to  put  in  their  place.  The  Devotee  saw 
him  changing  them. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Have  you  done 
with  the  flowers?  Then  give  them  to  me." 

She  held  the  flowers  tenderly  in  the  cup  of  her 
hands,  and  began  to  gaze  at  them  with  bent  head. 


THE  DEVOTEE  121 

After  a  few  moments'  silence  she  raised  her  head 
again,  and  said  to  me:  "  You  never  look  at  these 
flowers;  therefore  they  become  stale  to  you.  If  you 
would  only  look  into  them,  then  your  reading  and 
writing  would  go  to  the  winds." 

She  tied  the  flowers  together  in  the  end  of  her 
robe,  and  placed  them,  in  an  attitude  of  worship,  on 
the  top  of  her  head,  saying  reverently:  "  Let  me 
carry  my  God  with  me." 

While  she  did  this,  I  felt  that  flowers  in  our  rooms 
do  not  receive  their  due  meed  of  loving  care  at  our 
hands.  When  we  stick  them  in  vases,  they  are  more 
like  a  row  of  naughty  schoolboys  standing  on  a  form 
to  be  punished. 

The  Devotee  came  again  the  same  evening,  and 
sat  by  my  feet  on  the  terrace  of  the  roof. 

"  I  gave  away  those  flowers,"  she  said,  "  as  I  went 
from  house  to  house  this  morning,  singing  God's 
name.  Beni,  the  head  man  of  our  village,  laughed 
at  me  for  my  devotion,  and  said :  '  Why  do  you 
waste  all  this  devotion  on  Him?  Don't  you  know 
He  is  reviled  up  and  down  the  countryside?'  Is 
that  true,  my  God?  Is  it  true  that  they  are  hard 
upon  you?  " 

For  a  moment  I  shrank  into  myself.     It  was  a 


122  THE  DEVOTEE 

shock  to  find  that  the  stains  of  printers'  ink  could 
reach  so  far. 

The  Devotee  went  on:  "  Beni  imagined  that  he 
could  blow  out  the  flame  of  my  devotion  at  one 
breath !  But  this  is  no  mere  tiny  flame :  it  is  a  burn- 
ing fire.  Why  do  they  abuse  you,  my  God?  " 

I  said:  "  Because  I  deserved  it.  I  suppose  in  my 
greed  I  was  loitering  about  to  steal  people's  hearts 
in  secret." 

The  Devotee  said:  "Now  you  see  for  yourself 
how  little  their  hearts  are  worth.  They  are  full  of 
poison,  and  this  will  cure  you  of  your  greed." 

'  When  a  man,"  I  answered,  "  has  greed  in  his 
heart,  he  is  always  on  the  verge  of  being  beaten. 
The  greed  itself  supplies  his  enemies  with  poison." 

"  Our  merciful  God,"  she  replied,  "  beats  us  with 
His  own  hand,  and  drives  away  all  the  poison.  He 
who  endures  God's  beating  to  the  end  is  saved." 

II 

That  evening  the  Devotee  told  me  the  story 
of  her  life.  The  stars  of  evening  rose  and  set 
behind  the  trees,  as  she  went  on  to  the  end  of  her 
tale. 

"  My  husband  is  very  simple.      Some  people  think 


THE  DEVOTEE  123 

that  he  is  a  simpleton;  but  I  know  that  those  who 
understand  simply,  understand  truly.  In  business 
and  household  management  he  was  able  to  hold  his 
own.  Because  his  needs  were  small,  and  his  wants 
few,  he  could  manage  carefully  on  what  we  had. 
He  would  never  meddle  in  other  matters,  nor  try 
to  understand  them. 

"  Both  my  husband's  parents  died  before  we  had 
been  married  long,  and  we  were  left  alone.  But 
my  husband  always  needed  some  one  to  be  over  him. 
I  am  ashamed  to  confess  that  he  had  a  sort  of 
reverence  for  me,  and  looked  upon  me  as  his  su- 
perior. But  I  am  sure  that  he  could  understand 
things  better  than  I,  though  I  had  greater  powers 
of  talking. 

"  Of  all  the  people  in  the  world  he  held  his  Guru 
Thakur  (spiritual  master)  in  the  highest  veneration. 
Indeed  it  was  not  veneration  merely  but  love;  and 
such  love  as  his  is  rare. 

"  Guru  Thakur  was  younger  than  my  husband. 
Oh !  how  beautiful  he  was  ! 

"  My  husband  had  played  games  with  him  when 
he  was  a  boy;  and  from  that  time  forward  he  had 
dedicated  his  heart  and  soul  to  this  friend  of  his 
early  days.  Thakur  knew  how  simple  my  husband 
was,  and  used  to  tease  him  mercilessly. 


i24  THE  DEVOTEE 

"  He  and  his  comrades  would  play  jokes  upon 
him  for  their  own  amusement;  but  he  would  bear 
them  all  with  longsuffering. 

"  When  I  married  into  this  family,  Guru  Thakur 
was  studying  at  Benares.  My  husband  used  to  pay 
all  his  expenses.  I  was  eighteen  years  old  when  he 
returned  home  to  our  village. 

"  At  the  age  of  fifteen  I  had  my  child.  I  was 
so  young  I  did  not  know  how  to'  take  care  of  him. 
I  was  fond  of  gossip,  and  liked  to  be  with  my  village 
friends  for  hours  together.  I  used  to  get  quite 
cross  with  my  boy  when  I  was  compelled  to  stay  at 
home  and  nurse  him.  Alas !  my  child-God  came 
into  my  life,  but  His  playthings  were  not  ready  for 
Him.  He  came  to  the  mother's  heart,  but  the 
mother's  heart  lagged  behind.  He  left  me  in  anger; 
and  ever  since  I  have  been  searching  for  Him  up 
and  down  the  world. 

"  The  boy  was  the  joy  of  his  father's  life.  My 
careless  neglect  used  to  pain  my  husband.  But  his 
was  a  mute  soul.  He  has  never  been  able  to  give 
expression  to  his  pain. 

"  The  wonderful  thing  was  this,  that  in  spite  of 
my  neglect  the  child  used  to  love  me  more  than  any 
one  else.  He  seemed  to  have  the  dread  that  I 


THE  DEVOTEE  125 

would  one  day  go  away  and  leave  him.  So  even 
when  I  was  with  him,  he  would  watch  me  with  a 
restless  look  in  his  eyes.  He  had  me  very  little  to 
himself,  and  therefore  his  desire  to  be  with  me  was 
always  painfully  eager.  When  I  went  each  day  to 
the  river,  he  used  to  fret  and  stretch  out  his  little 
arms  to  be  taken  with  me.  But  the  bathing  ghat 
was  my  place  for  meeting  my  friends,  and  I  did  not 
care  to  burden  myself  with  the  child. 

"  It  was  an  early  morning  in  August.  Fold  after 
fold  of  grey  clouds  had  wrapped  the  mid-day  round 
with  a  wet  clinging  robe.  I  asked  the  maid  to  take 
care  of  the  boy,  while  I  went  down  to  the  river. 
The  child  cried  after  me  as  I  went  away. 

"  There  was  no  one  there  at  the  bathing  ghat 
when  I  arrived.  As  a  swimmer,  I  was  the  best 
among  all  the  village  women.  The  river  was  quite 
full  with  the  rains.  I  swam  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  stream  some  distance  from  the  shore. 

"  Then  I  heard  a  cry  from  the  bank,  '  Mother  I ' 
I  turned  my  head  and  saw  my  boy  coming  down 
the  steps,  calling  me  as  he  came.  I  shouted  to  him 
to  stop,  but  he  went  on,  laughing  and  calling.  My 
feet  and  hands  became  cramped  with  fear.  I  shut 
my  eyes,  afraid  to  see.  When  I  opened  them,  there, 


126  THE  DEVOTEE 

at  the  slippery  stairs,  my  boy's  ripple  of  laughter 
had  disappeared  for  ever. 

"  I  got  back  to  the  shore.  I  raised  him  from 
the  water.  I  took  him  in  my  arms,  my  boy,  my 
darling,  who  had  begged  so  often  in  vain  for  me  to 
take  him.  I  took  him  now,  but  he  no  more  looked 
in  my  eyes  and  called  '  Mother.' 

"  My  child-God  had  come.  I  had  ever  neglected 
Him.  I  had  ever  made  Him  cry.  And  now  all 
that  neglect  began  to  beat  against  my  own  heart, 
blow  upon  blow,  blow  upon  blow.  When  my  boy 
was  with  me,  I  had  left  him  alone.  I  had  refused 
to  take  him  with  me.  And  now,  when  he  is  dead, 
his  memory  clings  to  me  and  never  leaves  me. 

"  God  alone  knows  all  that  my  husband  suffered. 
If  he  had  only  punished  me  for  my  sin,  it  would  have 
been  better  for  us  both.  But  he  knew  only  how 
to  endure  in  silence,  not  how  to  speak. 

"  When  I  was  almost  mad  with  grief,  Guru 
Thakur  came  back.  In  earlier  days,  the  relation 
between  him  and  my  husband  had  been  that  of 
boyish  friendship.  Now,  my  husband's  reverence 
for  his  sanctity  and  learning  was  unbounded.  He 
could  hardly  speak  in  his  presence,  his  awe  of  him 
was  so  great. 


THE  DEVOTEE  127 

"  My  husband  asked  his  Guru  to  try  to  give  me 
some  consolation.  Guru  Thakur  began  to  read 
and  explain  to  me  the  scriptures.  But  I  do  not 
think  they  had  much  effect  on  my  mind.  All  their 
value  for  me  lay  in  the  voice  that  uttered  them. 
God  makes  the  draught  of  divine  life  deepest  in  the 
heart  for  man  to  drink,  through  the  human  voice. 
He  has  no  better  vessel  in  His  hand  than  that;  and 
He  Himself  drinks  His  divine  draught  out  of  the 
same  vessel. 

"  My  husband's  love  and  veneration  for  his  Guru 
filled  our  house,  as  incense  fills  a  temple  shrine.  I 
showed  that  veneration,  and  had  peace.  I  saw  my 
God  in  the  form  of  that  Guru.  He  used  to  come 
to  take  his  meal  at  our  house  every  morning.  The 
first  thought  that  would  come  to  my  mind  on  waking 
from  sleep  was  that  of  his  food  as  a  sacred  gift  from 
God.  When  I  prepared  the  things  for  his  meal, 
my  fingers  would  sing  for  joy. 

''  When  my  husband  saw  my  devotion  to  his  Guru, 
his  respect  for  me  greatly  increased.  He  noticed 
his  Guru's  eager  desire  to  explain  the  scriptures  to 
me.  He  used  to  think  that  he  could  never  expect  to 
earn  any  regard  from  his  Guru  himself,  on  account 
of  his  stupidity;  but  his  wife  had  made  up  for  it. 


128  THE  DEVOTEE 

"  Thus  another  five  years  went  by  happily,  and 
my  whole  life  would  have  passed  like  that;  but  be- 
neath the  surface  some  stealing  was  going  on  some- 
where in  secret  I  could  not  detect  it;  but  it  was 
detected  by  the  God  of  my  heart.  Then  came  a 
day  when,  in  a  moment  our  whole  life  was  turned 
upside  down. 

"  It  was  a  morning  in  midsummer.  I  was  return- 
ing home  from  bathing,  my  clothes  all  wet,  down 
a  shady  lane.  At  the  bend  of  the  road,  under  the 
mango  tree,  I  met  my  Guru  Thakur.  He  had  his 
towel  on  his  shoulder  and  was  repeating  some  San- 
skrit verses  as  he  was  going  to  take  his  bath.  With 
my  wet  clothes  clinging  all  about  me  I  was  ashamed 
to  meet  him.  I  tried  to  pass  by  quickly,  and  avoid 
being  seen.  He  called  me  by  my  name. 

"  I  stopped,  lowering  my  eyes,  shrinking  into  my- 
self. He  fixed  his  gaze  upon  me,  and  said:  '  How 
beautiful  is  your  body !  ' 

"  All  the  universe  of  birds  seemed  to  break  into 
song  in  the  branches  overhead.  All  the  bushes  in 
the  lane  seemed  ablaze  with  flowers.  It  was  as 
though  the  earth  and  sky  and  everything  had  become 
a  riot  of  intoxicating  joy. 

"  I  cannot  tell  how  I  got  home.     I  only  remember 


THE  DEVOTEE  129 

that  I  rushed  into  the  room  where  we  worship  God. 
But  the  room  seemed  empty.  Only  before  my  eyes 
those  same  gold  spangles  of  light  were  dancing  which 
had  quivered  in  front  of  me  in  that  shady  lane  on 
my  way  back  from  the  river. 

"  Guru  Thakur  came  to  take  his  food  that  day, 
and  asked  my  husband,  where  I  had  gone.  He 
searched  for  me,  but  could  not  find  me  anywhere. 

"  Ah !  I  have  not  the  same  earth  now  any  longer. 
The  same  sunlight  is  not  mine.  I  called  on  my 
God  in  my  dismay,  and  He  kept  His  face  turned 
away  from  me. 

"  The  day  passed,  I  know  not  how.  That  night 
I  had  to  meet  my  husband.  But  the  night  is  dark 
and  silent.  It  is  the  time  when  my  husband's  mind 
comes  out  shining,  like  stars  at  twilight.  I  had 
heard  him  speak  things  in  the  dark,  and  I  had  been 
surprised  to  find  how  deeply  he  understood. 

"  Sometimes  I  am  late  in  the  evening  in  going 
to  rest  on  account  of  household  work.  My  husband 
waits  for  me,  seated  on  the  floor,  without  going  to 
bed.  Our  talk  at  such  times  had  often  begun  with 
something  about  our  Guru. 

"  That  night,  when  it  was  past  midnight,  I  came 
to  my  room,  and  found  my  husband  sleeping  on  the 


130  THE  DEVOTEE 

floor.  Without  disturbing  him  I  lay  down  on  the 
ground  at  his  feet,  my  head  towards  him.  Once 
he  stretched  his  feet,  while  sleeping,  and  struck  me 
on  the  breast.  That  was  his  last  bequest. 

44  Next  morning,  when  my  husband  woke  up  from 
his  sleep,  I  was  already  sitting  by  him.  Outside  the 
window,  over  the  thick  foliage  of  the  jack-fruit  tree, 
appeared  the  first  pale  red  of  the  dawn  at  the  fringe 
of  the  night.  It  was  so  early  that  the  crows  had  not 
yet  begun  to  call. 

44  I  bowed,  and  touched  my  husband's  feet  with 
my  forehead.  He  sat  up,  starting  as  if  waking 
from  a  dream,  and  looked  at  my  face  in  amazement. 
I  said: 

a  4  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  must  leave  the 
world.  I  cannot  belong  to  you  any  longer.  I  must 
leave  your  home.' 

44  Perhaps  my  husband  thought  that  he  was  still 
dreaming.  He  said  not  a  word. 

u'Ah!  do  hear  me!'  I  pleaded  with  infinite 
pain.  4  Do  hear  me  and  understand!  You  must 
marry  another  wife.  I  must  take  my  leave.' 

4'  My  husband  said:  4  What  is  all  this  wild,  mad 
talk?  Who  advises  you  to  leave  the  world?' 

"I  said:  'My  Guru  Thakur.' 


THE  DEVOTEE  131 

"  My  husband  looked  bewildered.  *  Guru  Tha- 
kur ! '  he  cried.  *  When  did  he  give  you  this 
advice?  ' 

"  '  In  the  morning,'  I  answered,  '  yesterday,  when 
I  met  him  on  my  way  back  from  the  river.' 

"  His  voice  trembled  a  little.  He  turned,  and 
looked  in  my  face,  and  asked  me :  '  Why  did  he 
give  you  such  a  behest?  ' 

"  '  I  do  not  know,'  I  answered.  *  Ask  him!  He 
will  tell  you  himself,  if  he  can.' 

"  My  husband  said:  '  It  is  possible  to  leave  the 
world,  even  when  continuing  to  live  in  it.  You  need 
not  leave  my  home.  I  will  speak  to  my  Guru  about 
it.' 

"  '  Your  Guru,'  I  said,  '  may  accept  your  petition; 
but  my  heart  will  never  give  its  consent.  I  must 
leave  your  home.  From  henceforth,  the  world  is 
no  more  to  me.' 

"  My  husband  remained  silent,  and  we  sat  there 
on  the  floor  in  the  dark.  When  it  was  light,  he 
said  to  me:  '  Let  us  both  come  to  him.' 

"  I  folded  my  hands  and  said:  '  I  shall  never  meet 
him  again.' 

"  He  looked  into  my  face.  I  lowered  my  eyes. 
He  said  no  more.  I  knew  that,  somehow,  he  had 


132  THE  DEVOTEE 

seen  into  my  mind,  and  understood  what  was  there. 
In  this  world  of  mine,  there  were  only  two  who 
loved  me  best  —  my  boy  and  my  husband.  That 
love  was  my  God,  and  therefore  it  could  brook  no 
falsehood.  One  of  these  two  left  me,  and  I  left 
the  other.  Now  I  must  have  truth,  and  truth 
alone." 

She  touched  the   ground  at  my   feet,   rose   and 
bowed  to  me,  and  departed. 


VISION 


VISION 


WHEN  I  was  a  very  young  wife,  I  gave  birth  to 
a  dead  child,  and  came  near  to  death  myself.  I 
recovered  strength  very  slowly,  and  my  eyesight 
became  weaker  and  weaker. 

My  husband  at  this  time  was  studying  medicine. 
He  was  not  altogether  sorry  to  have  a  chance  of 
testing  his  medical  knowledge  on  me.  So  he  began 
to  treat  my  eyes  himself. 

My  elder  brother  was  reading  for  his  law  exam- 
ination. One  day  he  came  to  see  me,  and  was 
alarmed  at  my  condition. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  he  said  to  my  husband. 
'  You  are  ruining  Kumo's  eyes.  You  ought  to  con- 
sult a  good  doctor  at  once." 

My  husband  said  irritably:  "Why!  what  can  a 
good  doctor  do  more  than  I  am  doing?  The  case 
is  quite  a  simple  one,  and  the  remedies  are  all  well 
known." 


136  VISION 

Dada  answered  with  scorn:  u  I  suppose  you  think 
there  is  no  difference  between  you  and  a  Professor 
in  your  own  Medical  College." 

My  husband  replied  angrily:  "  If  you  ever  get 
married,  and  there  is  a  dispute  about  your  wife's 
property,  you  won't  take  my  advice  about  Law. 
Why,  then,  do  you  now  come  advising  me  about 
Medicine?" 

While  they  were  quarrelling,  I  was  saying  to  my- 
self that  it  was  always  the  poor  grass  that  suffered 
most  when  two  kings  went  to  war.  Here  was  a 
dispute  going  on  between  these  two,  and  I  had  to 
bear  the  brunt  of  it. 

It  also  seemed  to  me  very  unfair  that,  when  my 
family  had  given  me  in  marriage,  they  should  inter- 
fere afterwards.  After  all,  my  pleasure  and  pain 
are  my  husband's  concern,  not  theirs. 

From  that  day  forward,  merely  over  this  trifling 
matter  of  my  eyes,  the  bond  between  my  husband 
and  Dada  was  strained. 

To  my  surprise  one  afternoon,  while  my  husband 
was  away,  Dada  brought  a  doctor  in  to  see  me. 
He  examined  my  eyes  very  carefully,  and  looked 
grave.  He  said  that  further  neglect  would  be 
dangerous.  He  wrote  out  a  prescription,  and  Dada 


VISION  137 

sent  for  the  medicine  at  once.  When  the  strange 
doctor  had  gone,  I  implored  my  Dada  not  to  inter- 
fere. I  was  sure  that  only  evil  would  come  from 
the  stealthy  visits  of  a  doctor. 

I  was  surprised  at  myself  for  plucking  up  courage 
to  speak  to  my  brother  like  that.  I  had  always 
hitherto  been  afraid  of  him.  I  am  sure  also  that 
Dada  was  surprised  at  my  boldness.  He  kept 
silence  for  a  while,  and  then  said  to  me :  "  Very  well, 
Kumo.  I  won't  call  in  the  doctor  any  more.  But 
when  the  medicine  comes  you  must  take  it." 

Dada  then  went  away.  The  medicine  came  from 
the  chemist.  I  took  it  —  bottles,  powders,  pre- 
scriptions and  all  —  and  threw  it  down  the  well ! 

My  husband  had  been  irritated  by  Dada's  inter- 
ference, and  he  began  to  treat  my  eyes  with  greater 
diligence  than  ever.  He  tried  all  sorts  of  remedies. 
I  bandaged  my  eyes  as  he  told  me,  I  wore  his  col- 
oured glasses,  I  put  in  his  drops,  I  took  all  his 
powders.  I  even  drank  the  cod-liver  oil  he  gave 
me,  though  my  gorge  rose  against  it. 

Each  time  he  came  back  from  the  hospital,  he 
would  ask  me  anxiously  how  I  felt;  and  I  would 
answer:  "Oh!  much  better."  Indeed  I  became  an 
expert  in  self-delusion.  When  I  found  that  the 


i38  VISION 

water  in  my  eyes  was  still  increasing,  I  would  console 
myself  with  the  thought  that  it  was  a  good  thing  to 
get  rid  of  so  much  bad  fluid;  and,  when  the  flow 
of  water  in  my  eyes  decreased,  I  was  elated  at  my 
husband's  skill. 

But  after  a  while  the  agony  became  unbearable. 
My  eyesight  faded  away,  and  I  had  continual  head- 
aches day  and  night.  I  saw  how  much  alarmed  my 
husband  was  getting.  I  gathered  from  his  manner 
that  he  was  casting  about  for  a  pretext  to  call  in  a 
doctor.  So  I  hinted  that  it  might  be  as  well  to  call 
one  in. 

That  he  was  greatly  relieved,  I  could  see.  He 
called  in  an  English  doctor  that  very  day.  I  do  not 
know  what  talk  they  had  together,  but  I  gathered  that 
the  Sahib  had  spoken  very  sharply  to  my  husband. 

He  remained  silent  for  some  time  after  the  doctor 
had  gone.  I  took  his  hands  in  mine,  and  said: 
"What  an  ill-mannered  brute  that  was!  Why 
didn't  you  call  in  an  Indian  doctor?  That  would 
have  been  much  better.  Do  you  think  that  man 
knows  better  than  you  do  about  my  eyes?  " 

My  husband  was  very  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  with  a  broken  voice:  "  Kumo,  your  eyes 
must  be  operated  on." 


VISION  139 

I  pretended  to  be  vexed  with  him  for  concealing 
the  fact  from  me  so  long. 

"  Here  you  have  known  this  all  the  time,"  said 
I,  "and  yet  you  have  said  nothing  about  it!  Do 
you  think  I  am  such  a  baby  as  to  be  afraid  of  an 
operation?  " 

At  that  he  regained  his  good  spirits :  "  There  are 
very  few  men,"  said  he,  "  who  are  heroic  enough 
to  look  forward  to  an  operation  without  shrinking." 

I  laughed  at  him:  "Yes,  that  is  so.  Men  are 
heroic  only  before  their  wives !  " 

He  looked  at  me  gravely,  and  said:  "You  are 
perfectly  right.  We  men  are  dreadfully  vain." 

I  laughed  away  his  seriousness :  "  Are  you  sure 
you  can  beat  us  women  even  in  vanity?  " 

When  Dada  came,  I  took  him  aside:  "  Dada,  that 
treatment  your  doctor  recommended  would  have 
done  me  a  world  of  good;  only  unfortunately  I  mis- 
took the  mixture  for  the  lotion.  And  since  the  day 
I  made  the  mistake,  my  eyes  have  grown  steadily 
worse;  and  now  an  operation  is  needed." 

Dada  said  to  me:  "You  were  under  your  hus- 
band's treatment,  and  that  is  why  I  gave  up  coming 
to  visit  you." 

"  No,"  I  answered.     "  In  reality,  I  was  secretly 


1 40  VISION 

treating  myself  in  accordance  with  your  doctor's 
directions." 

Oh !  what  lies  we  women  have  to  tell !  When  we 
are  mothers,  we  tell  lies  to  pacify  our  children;  and 
when  we  are  wives,  we  tell  lies  to  pacify  the  fathers 
of  our  children.  We  are  never  free  from  this 
necessity. 

My  deception  had  the  effect  of  bringing  about 
a  better  feeling  between  my  husband  and  Dada. 
Dada  blamed  himself  for  asking  me  to  keep  a  secret 
from  my  husband:  and  my  husband  regretted  that 
he  had  not  taken  my  brother's  advice  at  the  first. 

At  last,  with  the  consent  of  both,  an  English  doc- 
tor came,  and  operated  on  my  left  eye.  That  eye, 
however,  was  too  weak  to  bear  the  strain;  and  the 
last  flickering  glimmer  of  light  went  out.  Then  the 
other  eye  gradually  lost  itself  in  darkness. 

One  day  my  husband  came  to  my  bedside.  '  I 
cannot  brazen  it  out  before  you  any  longer,"  said 
he,  "  Kumo,  it  is  I  who  have  ruined  your  eyes." 

I  felt  that  his  voice  was  choking  with  tears,  and  so 
I  took  up  his  right  hand  in  both  of  mine  and  said: 
"  Why !  you  did  exactly  what  was  right.  You  have 
dealt  only  with  that  which  was  your  very  own. 
Just  imagine,  if  some  strange  doctor  had  come  and 


VISION  141 

taken  away  my  eyesight.  What  consolation  should 
I  have  had  then?  But  now  I  can  feel  that  all  has 
happened  for  the  best;  and  my  great  comfort  is  to 
know  that  it  is  at  your  hands  I  have  lost  my  eyes. 
When  Ramchandra  found  one  lotus  too  few  with 
which  to  worship  God,  he  offered  both  his  eyes  in 
place  of  the  lotus.  And  I  have  dedicated  my  eyes 
to  my  God.  From  now,  whenever  you  see  some- 
thing that  is  a  joy  to  you,  then  you  must  describe 
it  to  me ;  and  I  will  feed  upon  your  words  as  a  sacred 
gift  left  over  from  your  vision." 

I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  I  said  all  this  there 
and  then,  for  it  is  impossible  to  speak  these  things 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  But  I  used  to  think 
over  words  like  these  for  days  and  days  together. 
And  when  I  was  very  depressed,  or  if  at  any  time 
the  light  of  my  devotion  became  dim,  and  I  pitied 
my  evil  fate,  then  I  made  my  mind  utter  these  sen- 
tences, one  by  one,  as  a  child  repeats  a  story  that  is 
told.  And  so  I  could  breathe  once  more  the 
serener  air  of  peace  and  love. 

At  the  very  time  of  our  talk  together,  I  said 
enough  to  show  my  husband  what  was  in  my  heart. 

"  Kumo,"  he  said  to  me,  "  the  mischief  I  have 
done  by  my  folly  can  never  be  made  good.  But  I 


H2  VISION 

can  do  one  thing.  I  can  ever  remain  by  your  side, 
and  try  to  make  up  for  your  want  of  vision  as  much 
as  is  in  my  power." 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  That  will  never  do.  I  shall 
not  ask  you  to  turn  your  house  into  an  hospital  for 
the  blind.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done, — 
you  must  marry  again." 

As  I  tried  to  explain  to  him  that  this  was  neces- 
sary, my  voice  broke  a  little.  I  coughed,  and  tried 
to  hide  my  emotion,  but  he  burst  out  saying: 

"  Kumo,  I  know  I  am  a  fool,  and  a  braggart,  and 
all  that,  but  I  am  not  a  villain!  If  ever  I  marry 
again,  I  swear  to  you  —  I  swear  to  you  the  most 
solemn  oath  by  my  family  god,  Gopinath  —  may 
that  most  hated  of  all  sins,  the  sin  of  parricide,  fall 
on  my  head!  " 

Ah!  I  should  never,  never  have  allowed  him  to 
swear  that  dreadful  oath.  But  tears  were  choking 
my  voice,  and  I  could  not  say  a  word  for  insufferable 
joy.  I  hid  my  blind  face  in  my  pillows,  and  sobbed, 
and  sobbed  again.  At  last,  when  the  first  flood  of 
my  tears  was  over,  I  drew  his  head  down  to  my 
breast. 

"  Ah !  "  said  I,  "  why  did  you  take  such  a  terrible 
oath?  Do  you  think  I  asked  you  to  marry  again 


VISION  143 

for  your  own  sordid  pleasure  ?  No !  I  was  think- 
ing of  myself,  for  she  could  perform  those  services 
which  were  mine  to  give  you  when  I  had  my  sight." 

"  Services !  "  said  he,  "  services !  Those  can  be 
done  by  servants.  Do  you  think  I  am  mad  enough 
to  bring  a  slave  into  my  house,  and  bid  her  share 
the  throne  with  this  my  Goddess?  " 

As  he  said  the  word  "  Goddess,"  he  held  up  my 
face  in  his  hands,  and  placed  a  kiss  between  my 
brows.  At  that  moment  the  third  eye  of  divine  wi&- 
dom  was  opened,  where  he  kissed  me,  and  verily 
I  had  a  consecration. 

I  said  in  my  own  mind:  "  It  is  well.  I  am  no 
longer  able  to  serve  him  in  the  lower  world  of  house- 
hold cares.  But  I  shall  rise  to  a  higher  region.  I 
shall  bring  down  blessings  from  above.  No  more 
lies !  No  more  deceptions  for  me !  All  the  little- 
nesses and  hypocrisies  of  my  former  life  shall  be 
banished  for  ever!  " 

That  day,  the  whole  day  through,  I  felt  a  con- 
flict going  on  within  me.  The  joy  of  the  thought, 
that  after  this  solemn  oath  it  was  impossible  for  my 
husband  to  marry  again,  fixed  its  roots  deep  in  my 
heart,  and  I  could  not  tear  them  out.  But  the  new 
Goddess,  who  had  taken  her  new  throne  in  me,  said : 


144  VISION 

"  The  time  might  come  when  it  would  be  good  for 
your  husband  to  break  his  oath  and  marry  again." 
But  the  woman,  who  was  within  me,  said:  "That 
may  be;  but  all  the  same  an  oath  is  an  oath,  and 
there  is  no  way  out."  The  Goddess,  who  was 
within  me,  answered:  "  That  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  exult  over  it."  But  the  woman,  who  was 
within  me,  replied:  "  What  you  say  is  quite  true,  no 
doubt;  all  the  same  he  has  taken  his  oath."  And 
the  same  story  went  on  again  and  again.  At  last 
the  Goddess  frowned  in  silence,  and  the  darkness  of 
a  horrible  fear  came  down  upon  me. 

My  repentant  husband  would  not  let  the  servants 
do  my  work;  he  must  do  it  all  himself.  At  first  it 
gave  me  unbounded  delight  to  be  dependent  on  him 
thus  for  every  little  thing.  It  was  a  means  of  keep- 
ing him  by  my  side,  and  my  desire  to  have  him  with 
me  had  become  intense  since  my  blindness.  That 
share  of  his  presence,  which  my  eyes  had  lost,  my 
other  senses  craved.  When  he  was  absent  from  my 
side,  I  would  feel  as  if  I  were  hanging  in  mid-air, 
and  had  lost  my  hold  of  all  things  tangible. 

Formerly,  when  my  husband  came  back  late  from 
the  hospital,  I  used  to  open  my  window  and  gaze 
at  the  road.  That  road  was  the  link  which  con- 


VISION  145 

nected  his  world  with  mine.  Now  when  I  had  lost 
that  link  through  my  blindness,  all  my  body  would 
go  out  to  seek  him.  The  bridge  that  united  us  had 
given  way,  and  there  was  now  this  unsurpassable 
chasm.  When  he  left  my  side  the  gulf  seemed  to 
yawn  wide  open.  I  could  only  wait  for  the  time 
when  he  should  cross  back  again  from  his  own  shore 
to  mine. 

But  such  intense  longing  and  such  utter  dependence 
can  never  be  good.  A  wife  is  a  burden  enough  to 
a  man,  in  all  conscience,  and  to  add  to  it  the  burden 
of  this  blindness  was  to  make  his  life  unbearable. 
I  vowed  that  I  would  suffer  alone,  and  never  wrap 
my  husband  round  in  the  folds  of  my  all-pervading 
darkness. 

Within  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  I  man- 
aged to  train  myself  to  do  all  my  household  duties 
by  the  help  of  touch  and  sound  and  smell.  In  fact 
I  soon  found  that  I  could  get  on  with  greater  skill 
than  before.  For  sight  often  distracts  rather  than 
helps  us.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  when  these 
roving  eyes  of  mine  could  do  their  work  no  longer, 
all  the  other  senses  took  up  their  several  duties  with 
quietude  and  completeness. 

When  I  had  gained  experience  by  constant  prac- 


i46  VISION 

tice,  I  would  not  let  my  husband  do  any  more  house- 
hold duties  for  me.  He  complained  bitterly  at  first 
that  I  was  depriving  him  of  his  penance. 

This  did  not  convince  me.  Whatever  he  might 
say,  I  could  feel  that  he  had  a  real  sense  of  relief 
when  these  household  duties  were  over.  To  serve 
daily  a  wife  who  is  blind  can  never  make  up  the  life 
of  a  man. 

II 

My  husband  at  last  had  finished  his  medical 
course.  He  went  away  from  Calcutta  to  a  small 
town  to  practise  as  a  doctor.  There  in  the  country 
I  felt  with  joy,  through  all  my  blindness,  that  I  was 
restored  to  the  arms  of  my  mother.  I  had  left  my 
village  birthplace  for  Calcutta  when  I  was  eight 
years  old.  Since  then  ten  years  had  passed  away, 
and  in  the  great  city  the  memory  of  my  village  home 
had  grown  dim.  As  long  as  I  had  eyesight,  Cal- 
cutta with  its  busy  life  screened  from  view  the  mem- 
ory of  my  early  days.  But  when  I  lost  my  eyesight 
I  knew  for  the  first  time  that  Calcutta  allured  only 
the  eyes:  it  could  not  fill  the  mind.  And  now,  in 
my  blindness,  the  scenes  of  my  childhood  shone  out 
once  more,  like  stars  that  appear  one  by  one  in  the 
evening  sky  at  the  end  of  the  day. 


VISION  147 

It  was  the  beginning  of  November  when  we  left 
Calcutta  for  Harsingpur.  The  place  was  new  to 
me,  but  the  scents  and  sounds  of  the  countryside 
pressed  round  and  embraced  me.  The  morning 
breeze  coming  fresh  from  the  newly  ploughed  land, 
the  sweet  and  tender  smell  of  the  flowering  mustard, 
the  shepherd-boy's  flute  sounding  in  the  distance, 
even  the  creaking  noise  of  the  bullock-cart,  as  it 
groaned  over  the  broken  village  road,  filled  my 
world  with  delight.  The  memory  of  my  past  life, 
with  all  its  ineffable  fragrance  and  sound,  became  a 
living  present  to  me,  and  my  blind  eyes  could  not  tell 
me  I  was  wrong.  I  went  back,  and  lived  over  again 
my  childhood.  Only  one  thing  was  absent:  my 
mother  was  not  with  me. 

I  could  see  my  home  with  the  large  peepul  trees 
growing  along  the  edge  of  the  village  pool.  I  could 
picture  in  my  mind's  eye  my  old  grandmother  seated 
on  the  ground  with  her  thin  wisps  of  hair  untied, 
warming  her  back  in  the  sun  as  she  made  the  little 
round  lentil  balls  to  be  dried  and  used  for  cooking. 
But  somehow  I  could  not  recall  the  songs  she  used 
to  croon  to  herself  in  her  weak  and  quavering  voice. 
In  the  evening,  whenever  I  heard  the  lowing  of 
cattle,  I  could  almost  watch  the  figure  of  my  mother 


i48  VISION 

going  round  the  sheds  with  lighted  lamp  in  her  hand. 
The  smell  of  the  wet  fodder  and  the  pungent  smoke 
of  the  straw  fire  would  enter  into  my  very  heart. 
And  in  the  distance  I  seemed  to  hear  the  clanging  of 
the  temple  bell  wafted  up  by  the  breeze  from  the 
river  bank. 

Calcutta,  with  all  its  turmoil  and  gossip,  curdles 
the  heart.  There,  all  the  beautiful  duties  of  life 
lose  their  freshness  and  innocence.  I  remember  one 
day,  when  a  friend  of  mine  came  in,  and  said  to  me: 
"  Kumo,  why  don't  you  feel  angry?  If  I  had  been 
treated  like  you  by  my  husband,  I  would  never  look 
upon  his  face  again." 

She  tried  to  make  me  indignant,  because  he  had 
been  so  long  calling  in  a  doctor. 

"  My  blindness,"  said  I,  "  was  itself  a  sufficient 
evil.  Why  should  I  make  it  worse  by  allowing 
hatred  to  grow  up  against  my  husband?  " 

My  friend  shook  her  head  in  great  contempt, 
when  she  heard  such  old-fashioned  talk  from  the  lips 
of  a  mere  chit  of  a  girl.  She  went  away  in  disdain. 
But  whatever  might  be  my  answer  at  the  time,  such 
words  as  these  left  their  poison;  and  the  venom  was 
never  wholly  got  out  of  the  soul,  when  once  they  had 
been  uttered. 


VISION  149 

So  you  see  Calcutta,  with  its  never-ending  gossip, 
does  harden  the  heart.  But  when  I  came  back  to 
the  country  all  my  earlier  hopes  and  faiths,  all  that 
I  held  true  in  life  during  childhood,  became  fresh 
and  bright  once  more.  God  came  to  me,  and  filled 
my  heart  and  my  world.  I  bowed  to  Him,  and 
said: 

"  It  is  well  that  Thou  has  taken  away  my  eyes. 
Thou  art  with  me." 

Ah!  But  I  said  more  than  was  right.  It  was 
a  presumption  to  say:  "Thou  art  with  me."  All 
we  can  say  is  this :  "  I  must  be  true  to  Thee."  Even 
when  nothing  is  left  for  us,  still  we  have  to  go  on 
living. 

Ill 

We  passed  a  few  happy  months  together.  My 
husband  gained  some  reputation  in  his  profession 
as  a  doctor.  And  money  came  with  it. 

But  there  is  a  mischief  in  money.  I  cannot  point 
to  any  one  event;  but,  because  the  blind  have  keener 
perceptions  than  other  people,  I  could  discern  the 
change  which  came  over  my  husband  along  with  the 
increase  of  wealth. 

He   had   a   keen   sense   of  justice  when  he  was 


150  VISION 

younger,  and  had  often  told  me  of  his  great  desire 
to  help  the  poor  when  once  he  obtained  a  practice 
of  his  own.  He  had  a  noble  contempt  for  those 
in  his  profession  who  would  not  feel  the  pulse  of 
a  poor  patient  before  collecting  his  fee.  But  now 
I  noticed  a  difference.  He  had  become  strangely 
hard.  Once  when  a  poor  woman  came,  and  begged 
him,  out  of  charity,  to  save  the  life  of  her  only  child, 
he  bluntly  refused.  And  when  I  implored  him  my- 
self to  help  her,  he  did  his  work  perfunctorily. 

While  we  were  less  rich  my  husband  disliked 
sharp  practice  in  money  matters.  He  was  scru- 
pulously honourable  in  such  things.  But  since  he  had 
got  a  large  account  at  the  bank  he  was  often  closeted 
for  hours  with  some  scamp  of  a  landlord's  agent, 
for  purposes  which  clearly  boded  no  good. 

Where  has  he  drifted?  What  has  become  of  this 
husband  of  mine, —  the  husband  I  knew  before  I 
was  blind;  the  husband  who  kissed  me  that  day  be- 
tween my  brows,  and  enshrined  me  on  the  throne  of 
a  Goddess?  Those  whom  a  sudden  gust  of  passion 
brings  down  to  the  dust  can  rise  up  again  with  a 
new  strong  impulse  of  goodness.  But  those  who, 
day  by  day,  become  dried  up  in  the  very  fibre  of  their 
moral  being;  those  who  by  some  outer  parasitic 


VISION  151 

growth  choke  the  inner  life  by  slow  degrees, —  such 
men  reach  one  day  a  deadness  which  knows  no 
healing. 

The  separation  caused  by  blindness  is  the  merest 
physical  trifle.  But,  ah !  it  suffocates  me  to  find  that 
he  is  no  longer  with  me,  where  he  stood  with  me  in 
that  hour  when  we  both  knew  that  I  was  blind. 
That  is  a  separation  indeed! 

I,  with  my  love  fresh  and  my  faith  unbroken, 
have  kept  to  the  shelter  of  my  heart's  inner  shrine. 
But  my  husband  has  left  the  cool  shade  of  those 
things  that  are  ageless  and  unfading.  He  is  fast 
disappearing  into  the  barren,  waterless  waste  in  his 
mad  thirst  for  gold. 

Sometimes  the  suspicion  comes  to  me  that  things 
are  not  so  bad  as  they  seem:  that  perhaps  I  exag- 
gerate because  I  am  blind.  It  may  be  that,  if  my 
eyesight  were  unimpaired,  I  should  have  accepted 
the  world  as  I  found  it.  This,  at  any  rate,  was  the 
light  in  which  my  husband  looked  at  all  my  moods 
and  fancies. 

One  day  an  old  Musalman  came  to  the  house. 
He  asked  my  husband  to  visit  his  little  grand-daugh- 
ter. I  could  hear  the  old  man  say:  "  Babu,  I  am 
a  poor  man;  but  come  with  me,  and  Allah  will  do 


1 52  VISION 

you  good."  My  husband  answered  coldly:  "What 
Allah  will  do  won't  help  matters;  I  want  to  know 
what  you  can  do  for  me." 

When  I  heard  it,  I  wondered  in  my  mind  why 
God  had  not  made  me  deaf  as  well  as  blind.  The 
old  man  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  departed.  I  sent 
my  maid  to  fetch  him  to  my  room.  I  met  him  at 
the  door  of  the  inner  apartment,  and  put  some 
money  into  his  hand. 

"  Please  take  this  from  me,"  said  I,  "  for  your 
little  grand-daughter,  and  get  a  trustworthy  doctor 
to  look  after  her.  And  —  pray  for  my  husband." 

But  the  whole  of  that  day  I  could  take  no  food 
at  all.  In  the  afternoon,  when  my  husband  got  up 
from  sleep,  he  asked  me :  "  Why  do  you  look  so 
pale?" 

I  was  about  to  say,  as  I  used  to  do  in  the  past: 
"Oh!  It's  nothing";  but  those  days  of  deception 
were  over,  and  I  spoke  to  him  plainly. 

"  I  have  been  hesitating,"  I  said,  "  for  days  to- 
gether to  tell  you  something.  It  has  been  hard  to 
think  out  what  exactly  it  was  I  wanted  to  say.  Even 
now  I  may  not  be  able  to  explain  what  I  had  in  my 
mind.  But  I  am  sure  you  know  what  has  happened. 
Our  lives  have  drifted  apart." 


VISION  153 

My  husband  laughed  in  a  forced  manner,  and 
said:  "  Change  is  the  law  of  nature." 

I  said  to  him :  "  I  know  that.  But  there  are 
some  things  that  are  eternal." 

Then  he  became  serious. 

'  There  are  many  women,"  said  he,  "  who  have 
a  real  cause  for  sorrow.  There  are  some  whose 
husbands  do  not  earn  money.  There  are  oth- 
ers whose  husbands  do  not  love  them.  But  you 
are  making  yourself  wretched  about  nothing  at 
all." 

Then  it  became  clear  to  me  that  my  very  blind- 
ness had  conferred  on  me  the  power  of  seeing  a 
world  which  is  beyond  all  change.  Yes !  It  is  true. 
I  am  not  like  other  women.  And  my  husband  will 
never  understand  me. 

IV 

Our  two  lives  went  on  with  their  dull  routine  for 
some  time.  Then  there  was  a  break  in  the  mo- 
notony. An  aunt  of  my  husband  came  to  pay  us  a 
visit. 

The  first  thing  she  blurted  out  after  our  first  greet- 
ing was  this :  "  Well,  Kumo,  it's  a  great  pity  you  have 
become  blind;  but  why  do  you  impose  your  own 


154  VISION 

affliction  on  your  husband?     You  must  get  him  to 
marry  another  wife." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  If  my  husband 
had  only  said  something  in  jest,  or  laughed  in  her 
face,  all  would  have  been  over.  But  he  stammered 
and  hesitated,  and  said  at  last  in  a  nervous,  stupid 
way:  "  Do  you  really  think  so?  Really,  Aunt,  you 
shouldn't  talk  like  that." 

His  aunt  appealed  to  me.  "  Was  I  wrong, 
Kumo?" 

I  laughed  a  hollow  laugh. 

"  Had  not  you  better,"  said  I,  "  consult  some  one 
more  competent  to  decide?  The  pickpocket  never 
asks  permission  from  the  man  whose  pocket  he  is 
going  to  pick." 

'  You  are  quite  right,"  she  replied  blandly. 
"  Abinash,  my  dear,  let  us  have  our  little  conference 
in  private.  What  do  you  say  to  that?  " 

After  a  few  days  my  husband  asked  her,  in  my 
presence,  if  she  knew  of  any  girl  of  a  decent  family 
who  could  come  and  help  me  in  my  household  work. 
He  knew  quite  well  that  I  needed  no  help.  I  kept 
silence. 

"  Oh!  there  are  heaps  of  them,"  replied  his  aunt. 
"  My  cousin  has  a  daughter  who  is  just  of  the  mar- 


VISION  155 

riageable  age,  and  as  nice  a  girl  as  you  could  wish. 
Her  people  would  be  only  too  glad  to  secure  you  as 
a  husband." 

Again  there  came  from  him  that  forced,  hesitat- 
ing laugh,  and  he  said:  "But  I  never  mentioned 
marriage." 

"  How  could  you  expect,"  asked  his  aunt,  "  a  girl 
of  decent  family  to  come  and  live  in  your  house  with- 
out marriage?  " 

He  had  to  admit  that  this  was  reasonable,  and 
remained  nervously  silent. 

I  stood  alone  within  the  closed  doors  of  my  blind- 
ness after  he  had  gone,  and  called  upon  my  God  and 
prayed:  "  O  God,  save  my  husband." 

When  I  was  coming  out  of  the  household  shrine 
from  my  morning  worship  a  few  days  later,  his  aunt 
took  hold  of  both  my  hands  warmly. 

"  Kumo,  here  is  the  girl,"  said  she,  "  we  were 
speaking  about  the  other  day.  Her  name  is  Hem- 
angini.  She  will  be  delighted  to  meet  you.  Hemo, 
come  here  and  be  introduced  to  your  sister." 

My  husband  entered  the  room  at  the  same 
moment.  He  feigned  surprise  when  he  saw  the 
strange  girl,  and  was  about  to  retire.  But  his  aunt 
said:  "  Abinash,  my  dear,  what  are  you  running  away 


156  VISION 

for?  There  is  no  need  to  do  that.  Here  is  my 
cousin's  daughter,  Hemangini,  come  to  see  you. 
Hemo,  make  your  bow  to  him." 

As  if  taken  quite  by  surprise,  he  began  to  ply  his 
aunt  with  questions  about  the  when  and  why  and 
how  of  the  new  arrival. 

I  saw  the  hollowness  of  the  whole  thing,  and  took 
Hemangini  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  my  own  room. 
I  gently  stroked  her  face  and  arms  and  hair,  and 
found  that  she  was  about  fifteen  years  old,  and  very 
beautiful. 

As  I  felt  her  face,  she  suddenly  burst  out  laughing 
and  said:  "Why!  what  are  you  doing?  Are  you 
hypnotising  me?  " 

That  sweet  ringing  laughter  of  hers  swept  away 
in  a  moment  all  the  dark  clouds  that  stood  between 
us.  I  threw  my  right  arm  about  her  neck. 

"  Dear  one,"  said  I,  "  I  am  trying  to  see  you." 
And  again  I  stroked  her  soft  face  with  my  left  hand. 

"  Trying  to  see  me?  "  she  said,  with  a  new  burst 
of  laughter.  "  Am  I  like  a  vegetable  marrow, 
grown  in  your  garden,  that  you  want  to  feel  me  all 
round  to  see  how  soft  I  am?  " 

I  suddenly  bethought  me  that  she  did  not  know 
I  had  lost  my  sight. 


VISION  157 

"  Sister,  I  am  blind,"  said  I. 

She  was  silent.  I  could  feel  her  big  young  eyes, 
full  of  curiosity,  peering  into  my  face.  I  knew  they 
were  full  of  pity.  Then  she  grew  thoughtful  and 
puzzled,  and  said,  after  a  short  pause: 

"  Oh !  I  see  now.  That  was  the  reason  your  hus- 
band invited  his  aunt  to  come  and  stay  here." 

"  No !  "  I  replied,  "  you  are  quite  mistaken.  He 
did  not  ask  her  to  come.  She  came  of  her  own 
accord." 

Hemangini  went  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 
"  That's  just  like  my  aunt,"  said  she.  "  Oh!  wasn't 
it  nice  of  her  to  come  without  any  invitation?  But 
now  she's  come,  you  won't  get  her  to  move  for  some 
time,  I  can  assure  you!  " 

Then  she  paused,  and  looked  puzzled. 

"But  why  did  father  send  me?"  she  asked. 
"  Can  you  tell  me  that?  " 

The  aunt  had  come  into  the  room  while  we  were 
talking.  Hemangini  said  to  her:  "  When  are  you 
thinking  of  going  back,  Aunt?  " 

The  aunt  looked  very  much  upset. 

"  What  a  question  to  ask!  "  said  she,  "  I've  never 
seen  such  a  restless  body  as  you.  We've  only  just 
come,  and  you  ask  when  we're  going  back!  " 


158  VISION 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you,"  Hemangini  said, 
"  for  this  house  belongs  to  your  near  relations.  But 
what  about  me?  I  tell  you  plainly  I  can't  stop 
here."  And  then  she  held  my  hand  and  said: 
"  What  do  you  think,  dear?  " 

I  drew  her  to  my  heart,  but  said  nothing.  The 
aunt  was  in  a  great  difficulty.  She  felt  the  situa- 
tion was  getting  beyond  her  control;  so  she  proposed 
that  she  and  her  niece  should  go  out  together  to 
bathe. 

"  No !  we  two  will  go  together,"  said  Hemangini, 
clinging  to  me.  The  aunt  gave  in,  fearing  opposi- 
tion if  she  tried  to  drag  her  away. 

Going  down  to  the  river  Hemangini  asked  me : 
"Why  don't  you  have  children?" 

I  was  startled  by  her  question,  and  answered: 
"  How  can  I  tell?  My  God  has  not  given  me  any. 
That  is  the  reason." 

"  No !  That's  not  the  reason,"  said  Hemangini 
quickly.  '  You  must  have  committed  some  sin. 
Look  at  my  aunt.  She  is  childless.  It  must  be  be- 
cause her  heart  has  some  wickedness.  But  what 
wickedness  is  in  your  heart?" 

The  words  hurt  me.  I  have  no  solution  to  offer 
for  the  problem  of  evil.  I  sighed  deeply,  and  said 


VISION  159 

in  the  silence  of  my  soul:  "  My  God!  Thou  knowest 
the  reason." 

"  Gracious  goodness,"  cried  Hemangini,  "  what 
are  you  sighing  for?  No  one  ever  takes  me 
seriously." 

And  her  laughter  pealed  across  the  river. 


I  found  out  after  this  that  there  were  constant 
interruptions  in  my  husband's  professional  duties. 
He  refused  all  calls  from  a  distance,  and  would 
hurry  away  from  his  patients,  even  when  they  were 
close  at  hand. 

Formerly  it  was  only  during  the  mid-day  meals 
and  at  night-time  that  he  could  come  into  the  inner 
apartment.  But  now,  with  unnecessary  anxiety  for 
his  aunt's  comfort,  he  began  to  visit  her  at  all  hours 
of  the  day.  I  knew  at  once  that  he  had  come  to 
her  room,  when  I  heard  her  shouting  for  Heman- 
gini to  bring  in  a  glass  of  water.  At  first  the  girl 
would  do  what  she  was  told;  but  later  on  she  re- 
fused altogether. 

Then  the  aunt  would  call,  in  an  endearing  voice : 
"Hemo!  Hemo!  Hemangini."  But  the  girl  would 
cling  to  me  with  an  impulse  of  pity.  A  sense  of 


160  VISION 

dread  and  sadness  would  keep  her  silent.  Some- 
times she  would  shrink  towards  me  like  a  hunted 
thing,  who  scarcely  knew  what  was  coming. 

About  this  time  my  brother  came  down  from  Cal- 
cutta to  visit  me.  I  knew  how  keen  his  powers  of 
observation  were,  and  what  a  hard  judge  he  was. 
I  feared  my  husband  would  be  put  on  his  defence, 
and  have  to  stand  his  trial  before  him.  So  I  en- 
deavoured to  hide  the  true  situation  behind  a  mask 
of  noisy  cheerfulness.  But  I  am  afraid  I  overdid 
the  part:  it  was  unnatural  for  me. 

My  husband  began  to  fidget  openly,  and  asked 
how  long  my  brother  was  going  to  stay.  At  last  his 
impatience  became  little  short  of  insulting,  and  my 
brother  had  no  help  for  it  but  to  leave.  Before 
going  he  placed  his  hand  on  my  head,  and  kept  it 
there  for  some  time.  I  noticed  that  his  hand  shook, 
and  a  tear  fell  from  his  eyes,  as  he  silently  gave  me 
his  blessing. 

I  well  remember  that  it  was  an  evening  in  April, 
and  a  market-day.  People  who  had  come  into  the 
town  were  going  back  home  from  market.  There 
was  the  feeling  of  an  impending  storm  in  the  air; 
the  smell  of  the  wet  earth  and  the  moisture  in  the 
wind  were  all-pervading.  I  never  keep  a  lighted 


VISION  161 

lamp  in  my  bedroom,  when  I  am  alone,  lest  my 
clothes  should  catch  fire,  or  some  accident  happen. 
I  sat  on  the  floor  in  my  dark  room,  and  called  upon 
the  God  of  my  blind  world. 

"  O  my  Lord,"  I  cried,  "  Thy  face  is  hidden.  I 
cannot  see.  I  am  blind.  I  hold  tight  this  broken 
rudder  of  a  heart  till  my  hands  bleed.  The  waves 
have  become  too  strong  for  me.  How  long  wilt 
thou  try  me,  my  God,  how  long?  " 

I  kept  my  head  prone  upon  the  bedstead  and 
began  to  sob.  As  I  did  so,  I  felt  the  bedstead  move 
a  little.  The  next  moment  Hemangini  was  by  my 
side.  She  clung  to  my  neck,  and  wiped  my  tears 
away  silently.  I  do  not  know  why  she  had  been 
waiting  that  evening  in  the  inner  room,  or  why  she 
had  been  lying  alone  there  in  the  dusk.  She  asked 
me  no  question.  She  said  no  word.  She  simply 
placed  her  cool  hand  on  my  forehead,  and  kissed 
me,  and  departed. 

The  next  morning  Hemangini  said  to  her  aunt  in 
my  presence :  "  If  you  want  to  stay  on,  you  can.  But 
I  don't  I'm  going  away  home  with  our  family 
servant." 

The  aunt  said  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  go 
alone,  for  she  was  going  away  also.  Then  smil- 


162  VISION 

ingly  and  mincingly  she  brought  out,  from  a  plush 
case,  a  ring  set  with  pearls. 

"  Look,  Hemo,"  said  she,  "  what  a  beautiful  ring 
my  Abinash  brought  for  you." 

Hemangini  snatched  the  ring  from  her  hand. 

"  Look,  Aunt,"  she  answered  quickly,  "  just  see 
how  splendidly  I  aim."  And  she  flung  the  ring  into 
the  tank  outside  the  window. 

The  aunt,  overwhelmed  with  alarm,  vexation,  and 
surprise,  bristled  like  a  hedgehog.  She  turned  to 
me,  and  held  me  by  the  hand. 

"  Kumo,"  she  repeated  again  and  again,  "  don't 
say  a  word  about  this  childish  freak  to  Abinash. 
He  would  be  fearfully  vexed." 

I  assured  her  that  she  need  not  fear.  Not  a  word 
would  reach  him  about  it  from  my  lips. 

The  next  day  before  starting  for  home  Heman- 
gini embraced  me,  and  said:  "  Dearest,  keep  me  in 
mind;  do  not  forget  me." 

I  stroked  her  face  over  and  over  with  my  fingers, 
and  said:  "Sister,  the  blind  have  long  memories." 

I  drew  her  head  towards  me,  and  kissed  her  hair 
and  her  forehead.  My  world  suddenly  became 
grey.  All  the  beauty  and  laughter  and  tender  youth, 
which  had  nestled  so  close  to  me,  vanished  when 


VISION  163 

Hemangini  departed.  I  went  groping  about  with 
arms  outstretched,  seeking  to  find  out  what  was  left 
in  my  deserted  world. 

My  husband  came  in  later.  He  affected  a  great 
relief  now  that  they  were  gone,  but  it  was  exag- 
gerated and  empty.  He  pretended  that  his  aunt's 
visit  had  kept  him  away  from  work. 

Hitherto  there  had  been  only  the  one  barrier  of 
blindness  between  me  and  my  husband.  Now  an- 
other barrier  was  added, —  this  deliberate  silence 
about  Hemangini.  He  feigned  utter  indifference, 
but  I  knew  he  was  having  letters  about  her. 

It  was  early  in  May.  My  maid  entered  my  room 
one  morning,  and  asked  me :  "  What  is  all  this  prep- 
aration going  on  at  the  landing  on  the  river? 
Where  is  Master  going?  " 

I  knew  there  was  something  impending,  but  I 
said  to  the  maid:  "  I  can't  say." 

The  maid  did  not  dare  to  ask  me  any  more  ques- 
tions. She  sighed,  and  went  away. 

Late  that  night  my  husband  came  to  me. 

"  I  have  to  visit  a  patient  in  the  country,"  said 
he.  "  I  shall  have  to  start  very  early  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I  may  have  to  be  away  for  two  or 
three  days." 


1 64  VISION 

I  got  up  from  my  bed.  I  stood  before  him,  and 
cried  aloud:  "  Why  are  you  telling  me  lies?  " 

My  husband  stammered  out:  "  What  —  what  lies 
have  I  told  you?  " 

I  said:  "  You  are  going  to  get  married." 

He  remained  silent.  For  some  moments  there 
was  no  sound  in  the  room.  Then  I  broke  the 
silence : 

"  Answer  me,"  I  cried.     "  Say,  yes." 

He  answered,  "  Yes,"  like  a  feeble  echo. 

I  shouted  out  with  a  loud  voice :  "  No !  I  shall 
never  allow  you.  I  shall  save  you  from  this  great 
disaster,  this  dreadful  sin.  If  I  fail  in  this,  then 
why  am  I  your  wife,  and  why  did  I  ever  worship 
my  God?" 

The  room  remained  still  as  a  stone.  I  dropped 
on  the  floor,  and  clung  to  my  husband's  knees. 

"  What  have  I  done?  "  I  asked.  "  Where  have 
I  been  lacking?  Tell  me  truly.  Why  do  you  want 
another  wife?  " 

My  husband  said  slowly:  "I  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Your  blindness  has 
enclosed  you  in  its  fortress,  and  I  have  now  no 
entrance.  To  rne  you  are  no  longer  a  woman. 
You  are  awful  as  my  God.  I  cannot  live  my  every- 


VISION  165 

day  life  with  you.  I  want  a  woman  —  just  an  ordi- 
nary woman  —  whom  I  can  be  free  to  chide  and 
coax  and  pet  and  scold." 

Oh,  tear  open  my  heart  and  see !  What  am  I  else 
but  that, —  just  an  ordinary  woman?  I  am  the 
same  girl  that  I  was  when  I  was  newly  wed, —  a  girl 
with  all  her  need  to  believe,  to  confide,  to  worship. 

I  do  not  recollect  exactly  the  words  that  I  uttered. 
I  only  remember  that  I  said:  "  If  I  be  a  true  wife, 
then,  may  God  be  my  witness,  you  shall  never  do 
this  wicked  deed,  you  shall  never  break  your  oath. 
Before  you  commit  such  sacrilege,  either  I  shall  be- 
come a  widow,  or  Hemangini  shall  die." 

Then  I  fell  down  on  the  floor  in  a  swoon.  When 
I  came  to  myself,  it  was  still  dark.  The  birds  were 
silent.  My  husband  had  gone. 

All  that  day  I  sat  at  my  worship  in  the  sanctuary 
at  the  household  shrine.  In  the  evening  a  fierce 
storm,  wfth  thunder  and  lightning  and  rain,  swept 
down  upon  the  house  and  shook  it.  As  I  crouched 
before  the  shrine,  I  did  not  ask  my  God  to  save  my 
husband  from  the  storm,  though  he  must  have  been 
at  that  time  in  peril  on  the  river.  I  prayed  that 
whatever  might  happen  to  me,  my  husband  might  be 
saved  from  this  great  sin. 


1 66  VISION 

Night  passed.  The  whole  of  the  next  day  I  kept 
my  seat  at  worship.  When  it  was  evening  there 
was  the  noise  of  shaking  and  beating  at  the  door. 
When  the  door  was  broken  open,  they  found  me 
lying  unconscious  on  the  ground,  and  carried  me  to 
my  room. 

When  I  came  to  myself  at  last,  I  heard  some  one 
whispering  in  my  ear:  "Sister." 

I  found  that  I  was  lying  in  my  room  with  my  head 
on  Hemangini's  lap.  When  my  head  moved,  I 
heard  her  dress  rustle.  It  was  the  sound  of  bridal 
silk. 

O  my  God,  my  God!  My  prayer  has  gone  un- 
heeded! My  husband  has  fallen! 

Hemangini  bent  her  head  low,  and  said  in  a  sweet 
whisper:  "  Sister,  dearest,  I  have  come  to  ask  your 
blessing  on  our  marriage." 

At  first  my  whole  body  stiffened  like  the  trunk  of 
a  tree  that  has  been  struck  by  lightning.  Then  I 
sat  up,  and  said,  painfully,  forcing  myself  to  speak 
the  words:  "Why  should  I  not  bless  you?  You 
have  done  no  wrong." 

Hemangini  laughed  her  merry  laugh. 

"Wrong!"  said  she.  "When  you  married  it 
was  right;  and  when  I  marry,  you  call  it  wrong!  " 


VISION  167 

I  tried  to  smile  in  answer  to  her  laughter.  I  said 
in  my  mind :  "  My  prayer  is  not  the  final  thing  in 
this  world.  His  will  is  all.  Let  the  blows  descend 
upon  my  head ;  but  may  they  leave  my  faith  and  hope 
in  God  untouched." 

Hemangini  bowed  to  me,  and  touched  my  feet. 
"  May  you  be  happy,"  said  I,  blessing  her,  "  and 
enjoy  unbroken  prosperity." 

Hemangini  was  still  unsatisfied. 

"  Dearest  sister,"  she  said,  "  a  blessing  for  me  is 
not  enough.  You  must  make  our  happiness  com- 
plete. You  must,  with  those  saintly  hands  of  yours, 
accept  into  your  home  my  husband  also.  Let  me 
bring  him  to  you." 

I  said:  "  Yes,  bring  him  to  me." 

A  few  moments  later  I  heard  a  familiar 
footstep,  and  the  question,  "  Kumo,  how  are 
you?" 

I  started  up,  and  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  cried: 
"Dada!" 

Hemangini  burst  out  laughing. 

"You  still  call  him  elder  brother?"  she  asked. 
"  What  nonsense !  Call  him  younger  brother  now, 
and  pull  his  ears  and  tease  him,  for  he  has  married 
me,  your  younger  sister." 


1 68  VISION 

Then  I  understood.  My  husband  had  been  saved 
from  that  great  sin.  He  had  not  fallen. 

I  knew  my  Dada  had  determined  never  to  marry. 
And,  since  my  mother  had  died,  there  was  no  sacred 
wish  of  hers  to  implore  him  to  wedlock.  But  I,  his 
sister,  by  my  sore  need  had  brought  it  to  pass.  He 
had  married  for  my  sake. 

Tears  of  joy  gushed  from  my  eyes,  and  poured 
down  my  cheeks.  I  tried,  but  I  could  not  stop  them. 
Dada  slowly  passed  his  fingers  through  my  hair. 
Hemangini  clung  to  me,  and  went  on  laughing. 

I  was  lying  awake  in  my  bed  for  the  best  part  of 
the  night,  waiting  with  straining  anxiety  for  my  hus- 
band's return.  I  could  not  imagine  how  he  would 
bear  the  shock  of  shame  and  disappointment. 

When  it  was  long  past  the  hour  of  midnight, 
slowly  my  door  opened.  I  sat  up  on  my  bed,  and 
listened.  They  were  the  footsteps  of  my  husband. 
My  heart  began  to  beat  wildly.  He  came  up  to  my 
bed,  held  my  hand  in  his. 

"  Your  Dada,"  said  he,  "  has  saved  me  from 
destruction.  I  was  being  dragged  down  and  down 
by  a  moment's  madness.  An  infatuation  had  seized 
me,  from  which  I  seemed  unable  to  escape.  God 
alone  knows  what  a  load  I  was  carrying  on  that  day 


VISION  169 

when  I  entered  the  boat.  The  storm  came  down  on 
the  river,  and  covered  the  sky.  In  the  midst  of  all 
my  fears  I  had  a  secret  wish  in  my  heart  to  be 
drowned,  and  so  disentangle  my  life  from  the  knot 
in  which  I  had  tied  it.  I  reached  Mathurganj. 
There  I  heard  the  news  which  set  me  free.  Your 
brother  had  married  Hemangini.  I  cannot  tell  you 
with  what  joy  and  shame  I  heard  it.  I  hastened  on 
board  the  boat  again.  In  that  moment  of  self- 
revelation  I  knew  that  I  could  have  no  happiness  ex- 
cept with  you.  You  are  a  Goddess." 

I  laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time,  and  said: 
"  No,  no,  no !  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  Goddess  any 
longer.  I  am  simply  your  own  little  wife.  I  am 
just  an  ordinary  woman." 

"  Dearest,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  also  something 
I  want  to  say  to  you.  Never  again  put  me  to  shame 
by  calling  me  your  God." 

On  the  next  day  the  little  town  became  joyous  with 
the  sound  of  conch  shells.  But  nobody  made  any 
reference  to  that  night  of  madness,  when  all  was  so 
nearly  lost. 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

i 

ONCE  upon  a  time  the  Babus  of  Nayanjore  were 
famous  landholders.  They  were  noted  for  their 
princely  extravagance.  They  would  tear  off  the 
rough  border  of  their  Dacca  muslin,  because  it 
rubbed  against  their  skin.  They  could  spend  many 
thousands  of  rupees  over  the  wedding  of  a  kitten. 
On  a  certain  grand  occasion  it  is  alleged  that  in  order 
to  turn  night  into  day  they  lighted  numberless  lamps 
and  showered  silver  threads  from  the  sky  to  imitate 
sunlight.  Those  were  the  days  before  the  flood. 
The  flood  came.  The  line  of  succession  among  these 
old-world  Babus,  with  their  lordly  habits,  could  not 
continue  for  long.  Like  a  lamp  with  too  many 
wicks  burning,  the  oil  flared  away  quickly,  and  the 
light  went  out. 

Kailas  Babu,  our  neighbour,  is  the  last  relic  of 
this  extinct  magnificence.     Before  he  grew  up,  his 

family    had    very    nearly    reached    its    lowest    ebb. 

173 


174       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

When  his  father  died,  there  was  one  dazzling  out- 
burst of  funeral  extravagance,  and  then  insolvency. 
The  property  was  sold  to  liquidate  the  debt.  What 
little  ready  money  was  left  over  was  altogether  in- 
sufficient to  keep  up  the  past  ancestral  splendours. 

Kailas  Babu  left  Nayanjore,  and  came  to  Cal- 
cutta. His  son  did  not  remain  long  in  this  world 
of  faded  glory.  He  died,  leaving  behind  him  an 
only  daughter. 

In  Calcutta  we  are  Kailas  Babu's  neighbours. 
Curiously  enough  our  own  family  history  is  just  the 
opposite  to  his.  My  father  got  his  money  by  his 
own  exertions,  and  prided  himself  on  never  spend- 
ing a  penny  more  than  was  needed.  His  clothes 
were  those  of  a  working  man,  and  his  hands  also. 
He  never  had  any  inclination  to  earn  the  title  of 
Babu  by  extravagant  display,  and  I  myself  his  only 
son,  owe  him  gratitude  for  that.  He  gave  me  the 
very  best  education,  and  I  was  able  to  make  my  way 
in  the  world.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  fact  that  I 
am  a  self-made  man.  Crisp  bank-notes  in  my  safe 
are  dearer  to  me  than  a  long  pedigree  in  an  empty 
family  chest. 

I  believe  this  was  why  I  disliked  seeing  Kailas 
Babu  drawing  his  heavy  cheques  on  the  public  credit 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE        175 

from  the  bankrupt  bank  of  his  ancient  Babu  reputa- 
tion. I  used  to  fancy  that  he  looked  down  on  me, 
because  my  father  had  earned  money  with  his  own 
hands. 

I  ought  to  have  noticed  that  no  one  showed  any 
vexation  towards  Kailas  Babu  except  myself.  In- 
deed it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  an  old  man 
who  did  less  harm  than  he.  He  was  always  ready 
with  his  kindly  little  acts  of  courtesy  in  times  of 
sorrow  and  joy.  He  would  join  in  all  the  cere- 
monies and  religious  observances  of  his  neighbours. 
His  familiar  smile  would  greet  young  and  old  alike. 
His  politeness  in  asking  details  about  domestic  af- 
fairs was  untiring.  The  friends  who  met  him  in 
the  street  were  perforce  ready  to  be  button-holed, 
while  a  long  string  of  questions  of  this  kind  followed 
one  another  from  his  lips: 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  Are 
you  quite  well?  How  is  Shashi?  and  Dada  —  is 
he  all  right?  Do  you  know,  I've  only  just  heard 
that  Madhu's  son  has  got  fever.  How  is  he? 
Have  you  heard?  And  Hari  Charan  Babu  —  I 
have  not  seen  him  for  a  long  time  —  I  hope  he  is 
not  ill.  What's  the  matter  with  Rakkhal?  And, 
er  —  er,  how  are  the  ladies  of  your  family?  " 


176       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

Kailas  Babu  was  spotlessly  neat  in  his  dress  on 
all  occasions,  though  his  supply  of  clothes  was  sorely 
limited.  Every  day  he  used  to  air  his  shirts  and 
vests  and  coats  and  trousers  carefully,  and  put  them 
out  in  the  sun,  along  with  his  bed-quilt,  his  pillow- 
case, and  the  small  carpet  on  which  he  always  sat. 
After  airing  them  he  would  shake  them,  and  brush 
them,  and  put  them  on  the  rock.  His  little  bits  of 
furniture  made  his  small  room  decent,  and  hinted 
that  there  was  more  in  reserve  if  needed.  Very 
often,  for  want  of  a  servant,  he  would  shut  up  his 
house  for  a  while.  Then  he  would  iron  out  his 
shirts  and  linen  with  his  own  hands,  and  do  other 
little  menial  tasks.  After  this  he  would  open  his 
door  and  receive  his  friends  again. 

Though  Kailas  Babu,  as  I  have  said,  had  lost  all 
his  landed  property,  he  had  still  some  family  heir- 
looms left.  There  was  a  silver  cruet  for  sprinkling 
scented  water,  a  filigree  box  for  otto-of-roses,  a  small 
gold  salver,  a  costly  ancient  shawl,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  ceremonial  dress  and  ancestral  turban. 
These  he  had  rescued  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
from  the  money-lenders'  clutches.  On  every  suit- 
able occasion  he  would  bring  them  out  in  state,  and 
thus  try  to  save  the  world-famed  dignity  of  the  Babus 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE        177 

of  Nayanjore.  At  heart  the  most  modest  of  men, 
in  his  daily  speech  he  regarded  it  as  a  sacred  duty, 
owed  to  his  rank,  to  give  free  play  to  his  family 
pride.  His  friends  would  encourage  this  trait  in  his 
character  with  kindly  good-humour,  and  it  gave  them 
great  amusement. 

The  neighbourhood  soon  learnt  to  call  him  their 
Thakur  Dada.1  They  would  flock  to  his  house,  and 
sit  with  him  for  hours  together.  To  prevent  his  in- 
curring any  expense,  one  or  other  of  his  friends 
would  bring  him  tobacco,  and  say :  "  Thakur  Dada, 
this  morning  some  tobacco  was  sent  to  me  from 
Gaya.  Do  take  it,  and  see  how  you  like  it." 

Thakur  Dada  would  take  it,  and  say  it  was  ex- 
cellent. He  would  then  go  on  to  tell  of  a  certain 
exquisite  tobacco  which  they  once  smoked  in  the  old 
days  at  Nayanjore  at  the  cost  of  a  guinea  an  ounce. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  used  to  say,  "  I  wonder  if  any 
one  would  like  to  try  it  now.  I  have  some  left,  and 
can  get  it  at  once." 

Every  one  knew  that,  if  they  asked  for  it,  then 
somehow  or  other  the  key  of  the  cupboard  would 
be  missing;  or  else  Ganesh,  his  old  family  servant, 
had  put  it  away  somewhere. 

1  Grandfather. 


178       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

"  You  never  can  be  sure,"  he  would  add,  "  where 
things  go  to  when  servants  are  about.  Now,  this 
Ganesh  of  mine,: —  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  fool  he  is, 
but  I  haven't  the  heart  to  dismiss  him." 

Ganesh,  for  the  credit  of  the  family,  was  quite 
ready  to  bear  all  the  blame  without  a  word. 

One  of  the  company  usually  said  at  this  point: 
"  Never  mind,  Thakur  Dada.  Please  don't  trouble 
to  look  for  it.  This  tobacco  we're  smoking  will  do 
quite  well.  The  other  would  be  too  strong." 

Then  Thakur  Dada  would  be  relieved,  and  settle 
down  again,  and  the  talk  would  go  on. 

When  his  guests  got  up  to  go  away,  Thakur  Dada 
would  accompany  them  to  the  door,  and  say  to  them 
on  the  door-step:  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  when  are  you 
all  coming  to  dine  with  me?  " 

One  or  other  of  us  would  answer:  "Not  just 
yet,  Thakur  Dada,  not  just  yet.  We'll  fix  a  day 
later." 

"  Quite  right,"  he  would  answer.  "'Quite  right. 
We  had  much  better  wait  till  the  rains  come.  It's 
too  hot  now.  And  a  grand  rich  dinner  such  as  I 
should  want  to  give  you  would  upset  us  in  weather 
like  this." 

But  when  the  rains  did  come,  every  one  was  very 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE        179 

careful  not  to  remind  him  of  his  promise.  If  the 
subject  was  brought  up,  some  friend  would  suggest 
gently  that  it  was  very  inconvenient  to  get  about  when 
the  rains  were  so  severe,  that  it  would  be  much  better 
to  wait  till  they  were  over.  And  so  the  game  went 
on. 

His  poor  lodging  was  much  too  small  for  his  posi- 
tion, and  we  used  to  condole  with  him  about  it.  His 
friends  would  assure  him  they  quite  understood  his 
difficulties :  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  get  a  decent 
house  in  Calcutta.  Indeed,  they  had  all  been  look- 
ing out  for  years  for  a  house  to  suit  him,  but,  I  need 
hardly  add,  no  friend  had  been  foolish  enough  to 
find  one.  Thakur  Dada  used  to  say,  after  a  long 
sigh  of  resignation:  "  Well,  well,  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  put  up  with  this  house  after  all."  Then  he 
would  add  with  a  genial  smile :  "  But,  you  know, 
I  could  never  bear  to  be  away  from  my  friends.  I 
must  be  near  you.  That  really  compensates  for 
everything." 

Somehow  I  felt  all  this  very  deeply  indeed.  I 
suppose  the  real  reason  was,  that  when  a  man  is 
young  stupidity  appears  to  him  the  worst  of  crimes. 
Kailas  Babu  was  not  really  stupid.  In  ordinary 
business  matters  every  one  was  ready  to  consult  him. 


i8o       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

But  with  regard  to  Nayanjore  his  utterances  were 
certainly  void  of  common  sense.  Because,  out  of 
amused  affection  for  him,  no  one  contradicted  his 
impossible  statements,  he  refused  to  keep  them  in 
bounds.  When  people  recounted  in  his  hearing  the 
glorious  history  of  Nayanjore  with  absurd  exaggera- 
tions he  would  accept  all  they  said  with  the  utmost 
gravity,  and  never  doubted,  even  in  his  dreams,  that 
any  one  could  disbelieve  it. 

II 

When  I  sit  down  and  try  to  analyse  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  that  I  had  towards  Kailas  Babu  I  see 
that  there  was  a  still  deeper  reason  for  my  dislike. 
I  will  now  explain. 

Though  I  am  the  son  of  a  rich  man,  and  might 
have  wasted  time  at  college,  my  industry  was  such 
that  I  took  my  M.A.  degree  in  Calcutta  University 
when  quite  young.  My  moral  character  was  flaw- 
less. In  addition,  my  outward  appearance  was  so 
handsome,  that  if  I  were  to  call  myself  beautiful, 
it  might  be  thought  a  mark  of  self-estimation,  but 
could  not  be  considered  an  untruth. 

There  could  be  no  question  that  among  the  young 
men  of  Bengal  I  was  regarded  by  parents  generally 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE        181 

as  a  very  eligible  match.  I  was  myself  quite  clear 
on  the  point,  and  had  determined  to  obtain  my  full 
value  in  the  marriage  market.  When  I  pictured  my 
choice,  I  had  before  my  mind's  eye  a  wealthy  father's 
only  daughter,  extremely  beautiful  and  highly  edu- 
cated. Proposals  came  pouring  in  to  me  from  far 
and  near;  large  sums  in  cash  were  offered.  I 
weighed  these  offers  with  rigid  impartiality,  in  the 
delicate  scales  of  my  own  estimation.  But  there  was 
no  one  fit  to  be  my  partner.  I  became  convinced, 
with  the  poet  Bhabavuti,  that 

In  this  world's  endless  time  and  boundless  space 

One  may  be  born  at  last  to  match  my  sovereign  grace. 

But  in  this  puny  modern  age,  and  this  contracted 
space  of  modern  Bengal,  it  was  doubtful  if  the  peer- 
less creature  existed  as  yet. 

Meanwhile  my  praises  were  sung  in  many  tunes, 
and  in  different  metres,  by  designing  parents. 

Whether  I  was  pleased  with  their  daughters  or 
not,  this  worship  which  they  offered  was  never  un- 
pleasing.  I  used  to  regard  it  as  my  proper  due,  be- 
cause I  was  so  good.  We  are  told  that  when  the 
gods  withhold  their  boons  from  mortals  they  still 
expect  their  worshippers  to  pay  them  fervent  honour, 


1 82       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

and  are  angry  if  it  is  withheld.  I  had  that  divine 
expectance  strongly  developed  in  myself. 

I  have  already  mentioned  that  Thakur  Dada  had 
an  only  grand-daughter.  I  had  seen  her  many  times, 
but  had  never  mistaken  her  for  beautiful.  No 
thought  had  ever  entered  my  mind  that  she  would 
be  a  possible  partner  for  myself.  All  the  same,  it 
seemed  quite  certain  to  me  that  some  day  or  other 
Kailas  Babu  would  offer  her,  with  all  due  worship,  as 
an  oblation  at  my  shrine.  Indeed  —  this  was  the 
secret  of  my  dislike  —  I  was  thoroughly  annoyed 
that  he  had  not  done  it  already. 

I  heard  he  had  told  his  friends  that  the  Babus  of 
Nayanjore  never  craved  a  boon.  Even  if  the  girl 
remained  unmarried,  he  would  not  break  the  family 
tradition.  It  was  this  arrogance  of  his  that  made 
me  angry.  My  indignation  smouldered  for  some 
time.  But  I  remained  perfectly  silent,  and  bore  it 
with  the  utmost  patience,  because  I  was  so  good. 

As  lightning  accompanies  thunder,  so  in  my  charac- 
ter a  flash  of  humour  was  mingled  with  the  mutter- 
ings  of  my  wrath.  It  was,  of  course,  impossible  for 
me  to  punish  the  old  man  merely  to  give  vent  to  my 
rage;  and  for  a  long  time  I  did  nothing  at  all.  But 
suddenly  one  day  such  an  amusing  plan  came  into 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE       183 

my  head,  that  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
carrying  it  into  effect. 

I  have  already  said  that  many  of  Kailas  Babu's 
friends  used  to  flatter  the  old  man's  vanity  to  the 
full.  One,  who  was  a  retired  Government  servant, 
had  told  him  that  whenever  he  saw  the  Chota  Lord 
Sahib  he  always  asked  for  the  latest  news  about  the 
Babus  of  Nayanjore,  and  the  Chota  Lord  had  been 
heard  to  say  that  in  all  Bengal  the  only  really  re- 
spectable families  were  those  of  the  Maharaja  of 
Burdwan  and  the  Babus  of  Nayanjore.  When  this 
monstrous  falsehood  was  told  to  Kailas  Babu  he  was 
extremely  gratified,  and  often  repeated  the  story. 
And  wherever  after  that  he  met  this  Government 
servant  in  company  he  would  ask,  along  with  other 
questions : 

"Oh!  er  —  by  the  way,  how  is  the  Chota  Lord 
Sahib?  Quite  well,  did  you  say?  Ah,  yes,  I  am 
so  delighted  to  hear  it!  And  the  dear  Mem  Sahib, 
is  she  quite  well  too?  Ah,  yes!  and  the  little 
children  —  are  they  quite  well  also  ?  Ah,  yes !  that's 
very  good  news !  Be  sure  and  give  them  my  com- 
pliments when  you  see  them." 

Kailas  Babu  would  constantly  express  his  intention 
of  going  some  day  and  paying  a  visit  to  the  Sahib. 


1 84       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

But  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  many  Chota 
Lords  and  Burra  Lords  also  would  come  and  go, 
and  much  water  would  pass  down  the  Hoogly,  be- 
fore the  family  coach  of  Nayanjore  would  be  fur- 
nished up  to  pay  a  visit  to  Government  House. 

One  day  I  took  Kailas  Babu  aside,  and  told  him 
in  a  whisper:  "  Thakur  Dada,  I  was  at  the  Levee 
yesterday,  and  the  Chota  Lord  happened  to  mention 
the  Babus  of  Nayanjore.  I  told  him  that  Kailas 
Babu  had  come  to  town.  Do  you  know,  he  was 
terribly  hurt  because  you  hadn't  called.  He  told  me 
he  was  going  to  put  etiquette  on  one  side,  and  pay 
you  a  private  visit  himself  this  very  afternoon." 

Anybody  else  could  have  seen  through  this  plot 
of  mine  in  a  moment.  And,  if  it  had  been  directed 
against  another  person,  Kailas  Babu  would  have  un- 
derstood the  joke.  But  after  all  he  had  heard  from 
his  friend  the  Government  servant,  and  after  all  his 
own  exaggerations,  a  visit  from  the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
He  became  highly  nervous  and  excited  at  my  news. 
Each  detail  of  the  coming  visit  exercised  him  greatly 
—  most  of  all  his  own  ignorance  of  English.  How 
on  earth  was  that  difficulty  to  be  met?  I  told  him 
there  was  no  difficulty  at  all:  it  was  aristocratic  not 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE        185 

to  know  English:  and,  besides,  the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor  always  brought  an  interpreter  with  him,  and  he 
had  expressly  mentioned  that  this  visit  was  to  be 
private. 

About  mid-day,  when  most  of  our  neighbours  are 
at  work,  and  the  rest  are  asleep,  a  carriage  and  pair 
stopped  before  the  lodging  of  Kailas  Babu.  Two 
flunkeys  in  livery  came  up  the  stairs,  and  announced 
in  a  loud  voice,  "  The  Chota  Lord  Sahib  has  ar- 
rived." Kailas  Babu  was  ready,  waiting  for  him, 
in  his  old-fashioned  ceremonial  robes  and  ancestral 
turban,  and  Ganesh  was  by  his  side,  dressed  in  his 
master's  best  suit  of  clothes  for  the  occasion.  When 
the  Chota  Lord  Sahib  was  announced,  Kailas  Babu 
ran  panting  and  puffing  and  trembling  to  the  door, 
and  led  in  a  friend  of  mine,  in  disguise,  with  repeated 
salaams,  bowing  low  at  each  step,  and  walking  back- 
ward as  best  he  could.  He  had  his  old  family  shawl 
spread  over  a  hard  wooden  chair,  and  he  asked  the 
Lord  Sahib  to  be  seated.  He  then  made  a  high- 
flown  speech  in  Urdu,  the  ancient  Court  language  of 
the  Sahibs,  and  presented  on  the  golden  salver  a 
string  of  gold  mohurs,  the  last  relics  of  his  broken 
fortune.  The  old  family  servant  Ganesh,  with  an 
expression  of  awe  bordering  on  terror,  stood  behind 


1 86       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

with  the  scent-sprinkler,  drenching  the  Lord  Sahib, 
touching  him  gingerly  from  time  to  time  with  the 
otto-of-roses  from  the  filigree  box. 

Kailas  Babu  repeatedly  expressed  his  regret  at  not 
being  able  to  receive  His  Honour  Bahadur  with  all 
the  ancestral  magnificence  of  his  own  family  estate 
at  Nayanjore.  There  he  could  have  welcomed  him 
properly  with  due  ceremonial.  But  in  Calcutta  he 
was  a  mere  stranger  and  sojourner  —  in  fact  a  fish 
out  of  water. 

My  friend,  with  his  tall  silk  hat  on,  very  gravely 
nodded.  I  need  hardly  say  that  according  to  Eng- 
lish custom  the  hat  ought  to  have  been  removed 
inside  the  room.  But  my  friend  did  not  dare  to  take 
it  off  for  fear  of  detection;  and  Kailas  Babu  and  his 
old  servant  Ganesh  were  sublimely  unconscious  of 
the  breach  of  etiquette. 

After  a  ten  minutes'  interview,  which  consisted 
chiefly  of  nodding  the  head,  my  friend  rose  to  his  feet 
to  depart.  The  two  flunkeys  in  livery,  as  had  been 
planned  beforehand,  carried  off  in  state  the  string 
of  gold  mohurs,  the  gold  salver,  the  old  ancestral 
shawl,  the  silver  scent-sprinkler,  and  the  otto-of-roses 
filigree  box;  they  placed  them  ceremoniously  in  the 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE       187 

carriage.  Kailas  Babu  regarded  this  as  the  usual 
habit  of  Chota  Lord  Sahibs. 

I  was  watching  all  the  while  from  the  next  room. 
My  sides  were  aching  with  suppressed  laughter. 
When  I  could  hold  myself  in  no  longer,  I  rushed 
into  a  further  room,  suddenly  to  discover,  in  a  cor- 
ner, a  young  girl  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
When  she  saw  my  uproarious  laughter  she  stood  up- 
right in  passion,  flashing  the  lightning  of  her  big 
dark  eyes  in  mine,  and  said  with  a  tear-choked  voice : 
'  Tell  me !  What  harm  has  my  grandfather  done 
to  you?  Why  have  you  come  to  deceive  him? 
Why  have  you  come  here?  Why •" 

She  could  say  no  more.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  broke  into  sobs. 

My  laughter  vanished  in  a  moment.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  me  that  there  was  anything  but  a  su- 
premely funny  joke  in  this  act  of  mine,  and  here  I 
discovered  that  I  had  given  the  crudest  pain  to  this 
tenderest  little  heart.  All  the  ugliness  of  my  cruelty 
rose  up  to  condemn  me.  I  slunk  out  of  the  room  in 
silence,  like  a  kicked  dog. 

Hitherto  I  had  only  looked  upon  Kusum,  the 
grand-daughter  of  Kailas  Babu,  as  a  somewhat 


1 88       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

worthless  commodity  in  the  marriage  market,  wait- 
ing in  vain  to  attract  a  husband.  But  now  I  found, 
with  a  shock  of  surprise,  that  in  the  corner  of  that 
room  a  human  heart  was  beating. 

The  whole  night  through  I  had  very  little  sleep. 
My  mind  was  in  a  tumult.  On  the  next  day,  very 
early  in  the  morning,  I  took  all  those  stolen  goods 
back  to  Kailas  Babu's  lodgings,  wishing  to  hand  them 
over  in  secret  to  the  servant  Ganesh.  I  waited  out- 
side the  door,  and,  not  finding  any  one,  went  upstairs 
to  Kailas  Babu's  room.  I  heard  from  the  passage 
Kusum  asking  her  grandfather  in  the  most  winning 
voice:  "  Dada,  dearest,  do  tell  me  all  that  the 
Chota  Lord  Sahib  said  to  you  yesterday.  Don't 
leave  out  a  single  word.  I  am  dying  to  hear  it  all 
over  again." 

And  Dada  needed  no  encouragement.  His  face 
beamed  over  with  pride  as  he  related  all  manner 
of  praises,  which  the  Lord  Sahib  had  been  good 
enough  to  utter  concerning  the  ancient  families  of 
Nayanjore.  The  girl  was  seated  before  him,  look- 
ing up  into  his  face,  and  listening  with  rapt  attention. 
She  was  determined,  out  of  love  for  the  old  man,  to 
play  her  part  to  the  full. 

My  heart  was  deeply  touched,  and  tears  came  to 


THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE       189 

my  eyes.  I  stood  there  in  silence  in  the  passage, 
while  Thakur  Dada  finished  all  his  embellishments  of 
the  Chota  Lord  Sahib's  wonderful  visit.  When  he 
left  the  room  at  last,  I  took  the  stolen  goods  and  laid 
them  at  the  feet  of  the  girl  and  came  away  without 
a  word. 

Later  in  the  day  I  called  again  to  see  Kailas  Babu 
himself.  According  to  our  ugly  modern  custom,  I 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  making  no  greeting  at  all 
to  this  old  man  when  I  came  into  the  room.  But  on 
this  day  I  made  a  low  bow,  and  touched  his  feet.  I 
am  convinced  the  old  man  thought  that  the  coming 
of  the  Chota  Lord  Sahib  to  his  house  was  the  cause 
of  my  new  politeness.  He  was  highly  gratified  by 
it,  and  an  air  of  benign  severity  shone  from  his  eyes. 
His  friends  had  flocked  in,  and  he  had  already  begun 
to  tell  again  at  full  length  the  story  of  the  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor's visit  with  still  further  adornments  of 
a  most  fantastic  kind.  The  interview  was  already 
becoming  an  epic,  both  in  quality  and  in  length. 

When  the  other  visitors  had  taken  their  leave,  I 
made  my  proposal  to  the  old  man  in  a  humble  man- 
ner. I  told  him  that,  "  though  I  could  never  for  a 
moment  hope  to  be  worthy  of  marriage  connection 
with  such  an  illustrious  family,  yet  .  .  .  etc.  etc." 


i9o       THE  BABUS  OF  NAYANJORE 

When  I  made  clear  my  proposal  of  marriage,  the 
old  man  embraced  me,  and  broke  out  in  a  tumult  of 
joy:  "  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  could  never  have  ex- 
pected such  great  good  fortune." 

That  was  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  that 
Kailas  Babu  confessed  to  being  poor.  It  was  also 
the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  that  he  forgot,  if 
only  for  a  single  moment,  the  ancestral  dignity  that 
belongs  to  the  Babus  of  Nayanjore. 


LIVING  OR  DEAD? 


LIVING  OR  DEAD? 


THE  widow  in  the  house  of  Saradasankar,  the 
Ranihat  zemindar,  had  no  kinsmen  of  her  father's 
family.  One  after  another  all  had  died.  Nor  had 
she  in  her  husband's  family  any  one  she  could  call 
her  own,  neither  husband  nor  son.  The  child  of 
her  brother-in-law  Saradasankar  was  her  darling. 
For  a  long  time  after  his  birth,  his  mother  had  been 
very  ill,  and  the  widow,  his  aunt  Kadambini,  had 
fostered  him.  If  a  woman  fosters  another's  child, 
her  love  for  him  is  all  the  stronger  because  she  has 
no  claim  upon  him  —  no  claim  of  kinship,  that  is, 
but  simply  the  claim  of  love.  Love  cannot  prove 
its  claim  by  any  document  which  society  accepts, 
and  does  not  wish  to  prove  it;  it  merely  worships 
with  double  passion  its  life's  uncertain  treasure. 
Thus  all  the  widow's  thwarted  love  went  out  to- 
wards this  little  child.  One  night  in  Sraban 
Kadambini  died  suddenly.  For  some  reason  her 
heart  stopped  beating.  Everywhere  else  the  world 

193 


i94  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

held  on  its  course;  only  in  this  gentle  little  breast, 
suffering  with  love,  the  watch  of  time  stood  still  for 
ever. 

Lest  they  should  be  harassed  by  the  police,  four 
of  the  zemindar's  Brahmin  servants  took  away  the 
body,  without  ceremony,  to  be  burned.  The  burn- 
ing-ground of  Ranihat  was  very  far  from  the  vil- 
lage. There  was  a  hut  beside  a  tank,  a  huge  banian 
near  it,  and  nothing  more.  Formerly  a  river,  now 
completely  dried  up,  ran  through  the  ground,  and 
a  part  of  the  watercourse  had  been  dug  out  to  make 
a  tank  for  the  performance  of  funeral  rites.  The 
people  considered  the  tank  as  part  of  the  river  and 
reverenced  it  as  such. 

Taking  the  body  into  the  hut,  the  four  men  sat 
down  to  wait  for  the  wood.  The  time  seemed  so 
long  that  two  of  the  four  grew  restless,  and  went 
to  see  why  it  did  not  come.  Nitai  and  Gurucharan 
being  gone,  Bidhu  and  Banamali  remained  to  watch 
over  the  body. 

It  was  a  dark  night  of  Sraban.  Heavy  clouds 
hung  in  a  starless  sky.  The  two  men  sat  silent  in 
the  dark  room.  Their  matches  and  lamp  were 
useless.  The  matches  were  damp,  and  would  not 
light,  for  all  their  efforts,  and  the  lantern  went  out. 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  195 

After  a  long  silence,  one  said:  "  Brother,  it  would 
be  good  if  we  had  a  bowl  of  tobacco.  In  our  hurry 
we  brought  none." 

The  other  answered:  "  I  can  run  and  bring  all 
we  want." 

Understanding  why  Banamali  wanted  to  go,1 
Bidhu  said:  "I  daresay!  Meanwhile,  I  suppose 
I  am  to  sit  here  alone !  " 

Conversation  ceased  again.  Five  minutes  seemed 
like  an  hour.  In  their  minds  they  cursed  the  two, 
who  had  gone  to  fetch  the  wood,  and  they  began 
to  suspect  that  they  sat  gossiping  in  some  pleas- 
ant nook.  There  was  no  sound  anywhere,  except 
the  incessant  noise  of  frogs  and  crickets  from  the 
tank.  Then  suddenly  they  fancied  that  the  bed 
shook  slightly,  as  if  the  dead  body  had  turned  on 
its  side.  Bidhu  and  Banamali  trembled,  and  began 
muttering:  "  Ram,  Ram."  A  deep  sigh  was  heard 
in  the  room.  In  a  moment  the  watchers  leapt  out 
of  the  hut,  and  raced  for  the  village. 

After  running  about  three  miles,  they  met  their 
colleagues  coming  back  with  a  lantern.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  they  had  gone  to  smoke,  and  knew  noth- 

1  From    fear    of    ghosts,    the    burning-ground    being    considered 
haunted. 


i96  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

ing  about  the  wood.  But  they  declared  that  a  tree 
had  been  cut  down,  and  that,  when  it  was  split  up, 
it  would  be  brought  along  at  once.  Then  Bidhu 
and  Banamali  told  them  what  had  happened  in  the 
hut.  Nitai  and  Gurucharan  scoffed  at  the  story, 
and  abused  Bidhu  and  Banamali  angrily  for  leaving 
their  duty. 

Without  delay  all  four  returned  to  the  hut.  As 
they  entered,  they  saw  at  once  that  the  body  was 
gone;  nothing  but  an  empty  bed  remained.  They 
stared  at  one  another.  Could  a  jackal  have  taken 
it?  But  there  was  no  scrap  of  clothing  anywhere. 
Going  outside,  they  saw  that  on  the  mud  that  had 
collected  at  the  door  of  the  hut  there  were  a  woman's 
tiny  footprints,  newly  made.  Saradasankar  was 
no  fool,  and  they  could  hardly  persuade  him  to  be- 
lieve in  this  ghost  story.  So  after  much  discussion 
the  four  decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  say  that 
the  body  had  been  burnt. 

Towards  dawn,  when  the  men  with  the  wood  ar- 
rived they  were  told  that,  owing  to  their  delay,  the 
work  had  been  done  without  them;  there  had  been 
some  wood  in  the  hut  after  all.  No  one  was  likely 
to  question  this,  since  a  dead  body  is  not  such  a 
valuable  property  that  any  one  would  steal  it. 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  197 

ii 

Every  one  knows  that,  even  when  there  is  no 
sign,  life  is  often  secretly  present,  and  may  begin 
again  in  an  apparently  dead  body.  Kadambini  was 
not  dead;  only  the  machine  of  her  life  had  for  some 
reason  suddenly  stopped. 

When  consciousness  returned,  she  saw  dense  dark- 
ness on  all  sides.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  was 
not  lying  in  her  usual  place.  She  called  out  "  Sis- 
ter," but  no  answer  came  from  the  darkness.  As 
she  sat  up,  terror-stricken,  she  remembered  her 
death-bed,  the  sudden  pain  at  her  breast,  the  be- 
ginning of  a  choking  sensation.  Her  elder  sister- 
in-law  was  warming  some  milk  for  the  child,  when 
Kadambini  became  faint,  and  fell  on  the  bed,  saying 
with  a  choking  voice :  "  Sister,  bring  the  child  here. 
I  am  worried."  After  that  everything  was  black, 
as  when  an  inkpot  is  upset  over  an  exercise-book. 
Kadambini's  memory  and  consciousness,  all  the  let- 
ters of  the  world's  book,  in  a  moment  became  form- 
less. The  widow  could  not  remember  whether  the 
child,  in  the  sweet  voice  of  love,  called  her  "  Auntie," 
as  if  for  the  last  time,  or  not;  she  could  not  remem- 
ber whether,  as  she  left  the  world  she  knew  for 
death's  endless  unknown  journey,  she  had  received 


198  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

a  parting  gift  of  affection,  love's  passage-money  for 
the  silent  land.  At  first,  I  fancy,  she  thought  the 
lonely  dark  place  was  the  House  of  Yama,  where 
there  is  nothing  to  see,  nothing  to  hear,  nothing  to 
do,  only  an  eternal  watch.  But  when  a  cold  damp 
wind  drove  through  the  open  door,  and  she  heard 
the  croaking  of  frogs,  she  remembered  vividly  and 
in  a  moment  all  the  rains  of  her  short  life,  and  could 
feel  her  kinship  with  the  earth.  Then  came  a  flash 
of  lightning,  and  she  saw  the  tank,  the  banian,  the 
great  plain,  the  far-off  trees.  She  remembered  how 
at  full  moon  she  had  sometimes  come  to  bathe  in  this 
tank,  and  how  dreadful  death  had  seemed  when  she 
saw  a  corpse  on  the  burning-ground. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  return  home.  But  then 
she  reflected:  "I  am  dead.  How  can  I  return 
home?  That  would  bring  disaster  on  them.  I 
have  left  the  kingdom  of  the  living;  I  am  my  own 
ghost!"  If  this  were  not  so,  she  reasoned,  how 
could  she  have  got  out  of  Saradasankar's  well- 
guarded  zenana,  and  come  to  this  distant  burning- 
ground  at  midnight?  Also,  if  her  funeral  rites  had 
not  been  finished,  where  had  the  men  gone  who 
should  burn  her?  Recalling  her  death-moment  in 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  199 

Saradasankar's  brightly-lit  house,  she  now  found 
herself  alone  in.  a  distant,  deserted,  dark  burning- 
ground.  Surely  she  was  no  member  of  earthly  so- 
ciety! Surely  she  was  a  creature  of  horror,  of  ill- 
omen,  her  own  ghost ! 

At  this  thought,  all  the  bonds  were  snapped  which 
bound  her  to  the  world.  She  felt  that  she  had 
marvellous  strength,  endless  freedom.  She  could 
do  what  she  liked,  go  where  she  pleased.  Mad  with 
the  inspiration  of  this  new  idea,  she  rushed  from  the 
hut  like  a  gust  of  wind,  and  stood  upon  the  burning- 
ground.  All  trace  of  shame  or  fear  had  left  her. 

But  as  she  walked  on  and  on,  her  feet  grew  tired, 
her  body  weak.  The  plain  stretched  on  endlessly; 
here  and  there  were  paddy-fields;  sometimes  she 
found  herself  standing  knee-deep  in  water. 

At  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  she  heard  one  or 
two  birds  cry  from  the  bamboo-clumps  by  the  dis- 
tant houses.  Then  terror  seized  her.  She  could 
not  tell  in  what  new  relation  she  stood  to  the  earth 
and  to  living  folk.  So  long  as  she  had  been  on  the 
plain,  on  the  burning-ground,  covered  by  the  dark 
night  of  Sraban,  so  long  she  had  been  fearless,  a 
denizen  of  her  own  kingdom.  By  daylight  the 


200  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

homes  of  men  filled  her  with  fear.  Men  and 
ghosts  dread  each  other,  for  their  tribes  inhabit  dif- 
ferent banks  of  the  river  of  death. 

ill 

Her  cjothes  were  clotted  in  the  mud;  strange 
thoughts  and  walking  by  night  had  given  her  the 
aspect  of  a  madwoman;  truly,  her  apparition  was 
such  that  folk  might  have  been  afraid  of  her,  and 
children  might  have  stoned  her  or  run  away.  Luck- 
ily, the  first  to  catch  sight  of  her  was  a  tiaveller. 
He  came  up,  and  said:  "  Mother,  you  look  a  re- 
spectable woman.  Wherever  are  you  going,  alone 
and  in  this  guise?  " 

Kadambini,  unable  to  collect  her  thoughts,  stared 
at  him  in  silence.  She  could  not  think  that  she  was 
still  in  touch  with  the  world,  that  she  looked  like 
a  respectable  woman,  that  a  traveller  was  asking  her 
questions. 

Again  the  man  said:  "  Come,  mother,  I  will  see 
you  home.  Tell  me  where  you  live." 

Kadambini  thought.  To  return  to  her  father-in- 
law's  house  would  be  absurd,  and  she  had  no  father's 
house.  Then  she  remembered  the  friend  of  her 
childhood.  She  had  not  seen  Jogmaya  since  the 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  201 

days  of  her  youth,  but  from  time  to  time  they  had 
exchanged  letters.  Occasionally  there  had  been 
quarrels  between  them,  as  was  only  right,  since 
Kadambihi  wished  to  make  it  clear  that  her  love  for 
Jogmaya  was  unbounded,  while  her  friend  com- 
plained that  Kadambini  did  not  return  a  love  equal 
to  her  own.  They  were  both  sure  mat,  if  they 
once  met,  they  would  be  inseparable. 

Kadambini  said  to  the  traveller:  "  I  will  go  to 
Sripati's  house  at  Nisindapur." 

As  he  was  going  to  Calcutta,  Nisindapur,  though 
not  near,  was  on  his  way.  So  he  took  Kadambini 
to  Sripati's  house,  and  the  friends  met  again.  At 
first  they  did  not  recognise  one  another,  but  grad- 
ually each  recognised  the  features  of  the  other's 
childhood. 

"  What  luck!  "  said  Jogmaya.  "  I  never  dreamt 
that  I  should  see  you  again.  But  how  have  you 
come  here,  sister?  Your  father-in-law's  folk  surely 
didn't  let  you  go  !  " 

Kadambini  remained  silent,  and  at  last  said: 
"  Sister,  do  not  ask  about  my  father-in-law.  Give 
me  a  corner,  and  treat  me  as  a  servant:  I  will  do  your 
work." 

"What?"   cried  Jogmaya.     "Keep  you  like   a 


202  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

servant!  Why,  you  are  my  closest  friend,  you  are 
my "  and  so  on  and  so  on. 

Just  then  Sripati  came  in.  Kadambini  stared  at 
him  for  some  time,  and  then  went  out  very  slowly. 
She  kept  her  head  uncovered,  and  showed  not  the 
slightest  modesty  or  respect.  Jogmaya,  fearing  that 
Sripati  would  be  prejudiced  against  her  friend,  be- 
gan an  elaborate  explanation.  But  Sripati,  who 
readily  agreed  to  anything  Jogmaya  said,  cut  short 
her  story,  and  left  his  wife  uneasy  in  her  mind. 

Kadambini  had  come,  but  she  was  not  at  one  with 
her  friend:  death  was  between  them.  She  could 
feel  no  intimacy  for  others  so  long  as  her  existence 
perplexed  her  and  consciousness  remained.  Kadam- 
bini would  look  at  Jogmaya,  and  brood.  She  would 
think:  "She  has  her  husband  and  her  work,  she 
lives  in  a  world  far  away  from  mine.  She  shares 
affection  and  duty  with  the  people  of  the  world;  I 
am  an  empty  shadow.  She  is  among  the  living;  I 
am  in  eternity." 

Jogmaya  also  was  uneasy,  but  could  not  explain 
why.  Women  do  not  love  mystery,  because,  though 
uncertainty  may  be  transmuted  into  poetry,  into 
heroism,  into  scholarship,  it  cannot  be  turned  to  ac- 
count in  household  work.  So,  when  a  woman  can- 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  203 

not  understand  a  thing,  she  either  destroys  and  for- 
gets it,  or  she  shapes  it  anew  for  her  own  use;  if 
she  fails  to  deal  with  it  in  one  of  these  ways,  she 
loses  her  temper  with  it.  The  greater  Kadambini's 
abstraction  became,  the  more  impatient  was  Jog- 
maya  with  her,  wondering  what  trouble  weighed 
upon  her  mind. 

Then  a  new  danger  arose.  Kadambini  was 
afraid  of  herself;  yet  she  could  not  flee  from  her- 
self. Those  who  fear  ghosts  fear  those  who  are  be- 
hind them;  wherever  they  cannot  see  there  is  fear. 
But  Kadambini's  chief  terror  lay  in  herself,  for  she 
dreaded  nothing  external.  At  the  dead  of  night, 
when  alone  in  her  room,  she  screamed;  in  the  eve- 
ning, when  she  saw  her  shadow  in  the  lamp-light, 
her  whole  body  shook.  Watching  her  fearfulness, 
the  rest  of  the  house  fell  into  a  sort  of  terror.  The 
servants  and  Jogmaya  herself  began  to  see  ghosts. 

One  midnight,  Kadambini  came  out  from  her 
bedroom  weeping,  and  wailed  at  Jogmaya's  door: 
"  Sister,  sister,  let  me  lie  at  your  feet !  Do  not  put 
me  by  myself!  " 

Jogmaya's  anger  was  no  less  than  her  fear.  She 
would  have  liked  to  drive  Kadambini  from  the  house 
that  very  second.  The  good-natured  Sripati,  after 


204  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

much  effort,  succeeded  in  quieting  their  guest,  and 
put  her  in  the  next  room. 

Next  day  Sripati  was  unexpectedly  summoned  to 
his  wife's  apartments.  She  began  to  upbraid  him: 
"  You,  do  you  call  yourself  a  man?  A  woman  runs 
away  from  he-r  father-in-law,  and  enters  your  house ; 
a  month  passes,  and  you  haven't  hinted  that  she 
should  go  away,  nor  have  I  heard  the  slightest  pro- 
test from  you.  I  should  take  it  as  a  favour  if  you 
would  explain  yourself.  You  men  are  all  alike." 

Men,  as  a  race,  have  a  natural  partiality  for 
womankind  in  general,  for  which  women  themselves 
hold  them  accountable.  Although  Sripati  was  pre- 
pared to  touch  Jogmaya's  body,  and  swear  that  his 
kind  feeling  towards  the  helpless  but  beautiful  Ka- 
dambini  was  no  whit  greater  than  it  should  be,  he 
could  not  prove  it  by  his  behaviour.  He  thought 
that  her  father-in-law's  people  must  have  treated 
this  forlorn  widow  abominably,  if  she  could  bear  it 
no  longer,  and  was  driven  to  take  refuge  with  him. 
As  she  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  how  could  he 
desert  her?  So  saying,  he  let  the  matter  drop,  for 
he  had  no  mind  to  distress  Kadambini  by  asking  her 
unpleasant  questions. 

His  wife,  then,  tried  other  means  of  attack  upon 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  205 

her  sluggish  lord,  until  at  last  he  saw  that  for  the 
sake  of  peace  he  must  send  word  to  Kadambini's 
father-in-law.  The  result  of  a  letter,  he  thought, 
might  not  be  satisfactory;  so  he  resolved  to  go  to 
Ranihat,  and  act  on  what  he  learnt. 

So  Sripati  went,  and  Jogmaya  on  her  part  said 
to  Kadambini :  "  Friend,  it  hardly  seems  proper 
for  you  to  stop  here  any  longer.  What  will  people 
say?" 

Kadambini  stared  solemnly  at  Jogmaya,  and  said: 
"  What  have  I  to  do  with  people?  " 

Jogmaya  was  astounded.  Then  she  said  sharply: 
"  If  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  people,  we  have. 
How  can  we  explain  the  detention  of  a  woman  be- 
longing to  another  house?  " 

Kadambini  said:  "Where  is  my  father-in-law's 
house?  " 

"  Confound  it!  "  thought  Jogmaya.  "  What  will 
the  wretched  woman  say  next?  " 

Very  slowly  Kadambini  said:  ;'  What  have  I  to 
do  with  you?  Am  I  of  the  earth?  You  laugh, 
weep,  love;  each  grips  and  holds  his  own;  I  merely 
look.  You  are  human,  I  a  shadow.  I  cannot 
understand  why  God  has  kept  me  in  this  world  of 
yours." 


206  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

So  strange  were  her  look  and  speech  that  Jog- 
maya  understood  something  of  her  drift,  though  not 
all.  Unable  either  to  dismiss  her,  or  to  ask  her 
any  more  questions,  she  went  away,  oppressed  with 
thought. 

IV 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  Sripati 
returned  from  Ranihat.  The  earth  was  drowned 
in  torrents  of  rain.  It  seemed  that  the  downpour 
would  never  stop,  that  the  night  would  never  end. 

Jogmaya  asked:     "  Well?  " 

"  I've  lots  to  say,  presently." 

So  saying,  Sripati  changed  his  clothes,  and  sat 
down  to  supper;  then  he  lay  down  for  a  smoke.  His 
mind  was  perplexed. 

His  wife  stifled  her  curiosity  for  a  long  time ;  then 
she  came  to  his  couch  and  demanded:  "  What  did 
you  hear?  " 

"  That  you  have  certainly  made  a  mistake." 

Jogmaya  was  nettled.  Women  never  make  mis- 
takes, or,  if  they  do,  a  sensible  man  never  mentions 
them;  it  is  better  to  take  them  on  his  own  shoulders. 
Jogmaya  snapped:  "  May  I  be  permitted  to  hear 
how?" 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  207 

Sripati  replied:  "The  woman  you  have  taken 
into  your  house  is  not  your  Kadambini." 

Hearing  this,  she  was  greatly  annoyed,  especially 
since  it  was  her  husband  who  said  it.  "What!  I 
don't  know  my  own  friend?  I  must  come  to  you  to 
recognise  her!  You  are  clever,  indeed!  " 

Sripati  explained  that  there  was  no  need  to  quar- 
rel about  his  cleverness.  He  could  prove  what  he 
said.  There  was  no  doubt  that  Jogmaya's  Kadam- 
bini was  dead. 

Jogmaya  replied:  "Listen!  You've  certainly 
made  some  huge  mistake.  You've  been  to  the 
wrong  house,  or  are  confused  as  to  what  you  have 
heard.  Who  told  you  to  go  yourself?  Write  a 
letter,  and  everything  will  be  cleared  up." 

Sripati  was  hurt  by  his  wife's  lack  of  faith  in  his 
executive  ability;  he  produced  all  sorts  of  proof, 
without  result.  Midnight  found  them  still  assert- 
ing and  contradicting.  Although  they  were  both 
agreed  now  that  Kadambini  should  be  got  out  of 
the  house,  although  Sripati  believed  that  their  guest 
had  deceived  his  wife  all  the  time  by  a  pretended 
acquaintance,  and  Jogmaya  that  she  was  a  prostitute, 
yet  in  the  present  discussion  neither  would  acknowl- 
edge defeat.  By  degrees  their  voices  became  so 


208  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

loud  that  they  forgot  that  Kadambini  was  sleeping 
in  the  next  room. 

The  one  said:  "  We're  in  a  nice  fix!  I  tell  you, 
I  heard  it  with  my  own  ears !  "  And  the  other  an- 
swered angrily:  "What  do  I  care  about  that?  I 
can  see  with  my  own  eyes,  surely." 

At  length  Jogmaya  said :  "  Very  well.  Tell  me 
when  Kadambini  died."  She  thought  that  if  she 
could  find  a  discrepancy  between  the  day  of  death 
and  the  date  of  some  letter  from  Kadambini,  she 
could  prove  that  Sripati  erred. 

He  told  her  the  date  of  Kadambini's  death,  and 
they  both  saw  that  it  fell  on  the  very  day  before  she 
came  to  their  house.  Jogmaya's  heart  trembled, 
and  even  Sripati  was  not  unmoved. 

Just  then  the  door  flew  open;  a  damp  wind  swept 
in  and  blew  the  lamp  out.  The  darkness  rushed 
after  it,  and  filled  the  whole  house.  Kadambini 
stood  in  the  room.  It  was  nearly  one  o'clock,  and 
the  rain  was  pelting  outside. 

Kadambini  spoke :  "  Friend,  I  am  your  Kadam- 
bini, but  I  am  no  longer  living.  I  am  dead." 

Jogmaya  screamed  with  terror;  Sripati  could  not 
speak. 

"  But,  save  in  being  dead,  I  have  done  you  no 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  209 

wrong.  If  I  have  no  place  among  the  living,  I  have 
none  among  the  dead.  Oh!  whither  shall  I  go?" 
Crying  as  if  to  wake  the  sleeping  Creator  in  the 
dense  night  of  rain,  she  asked  again :  "  Oh  1  whither 
shall  I  go?" 

So  saying  Kadambini  left  her  friend  fainting  in  the 
dark  house,  and  went  out  into  the  world,  seeking  her 
own  place. 

v 

It  is  hard  to  say  how  Kadambini  reached  Rani- 
hat.  At  first  she  showed  herself  to  no  one,  but  spent 
the  whole  day  in  a  ruined  temple,  starving.  When 
the  untimely  afternoon  of  the  rains  was  pitch-black, 
and  people  huddled  into  their  houses  for  fear  of 
the  impending  storm,  then  Kadambini  came  forth. 
Her  heart  trembled  as  she  reached  her  father-in- 
law's  house;  and  when,  drawing  a  thick  veil  over  her 
face,  she  entered,  none  of  the  doorkeepers  objected, 
since  they  took  her  for  a  servant.  And  the  rain  was 
pouring  down,  and  the  wind  howled. 

The  mistress,  Saradasankar's  wife,  was  playing 
cards  with  her  widowed  sister.  A  servant  was  in 
the  kitchen,  the  sick  child  was  sleeping  in  the  bed- 
room. Kadambini,  escaping  every  one's  notice,  en- 


210  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

tered  this  room.  I  do  not  know  why  she  had  come 
to  her  father-in-law's  house;  she  herself  did  not 
know;  she  felt  only  that  she  wanted  to  see  her  child 
again.  She  had  no  thought  where  to  go  next,  or 
what  to  do. 

In  the  lighted  room  she  saw  the  child  sleeping, 
his  fists  clenched,  his  body  wasted  with  fever.  At 
sight  of  him,  her  heart  became  parched  and  thirsty. 
If  only  she  could  press  that  tortured  body  to  her 
breast!  Immediately  the  thought  followed:  "I 
do  not  exist.  Who  would  see  it?  His  mother 
loves  company,  loves  gossip  and  cards.  All  the  time 
that  she  left  me  in  charge,  she  was  herself  free  from 
anxiety,  nor  was  she  troubled  about  him  in  the  least. 
Who  will  look  after  him  now  as  I  did?  " 

The  child  turned  on  his  side,  and  cried,  half- 
asleep  :  "  Auntie,  give  me  water."  Her  darling 
had  not  yet  forgotten  his  auntie !  In  a  fever  of  ex- 
citement, she  poured  out  some  water,  and,  taking  him 
to  her  breast,  she  gave  it  him. 

As  long  as  he  was  asleep,  the  child  felt  no  strange- 
ness in  taking  water  from  the  accustomed  hand. 
But  when  Kadambini  satisfied  her  long-starved  long- 
ing, and  kissed  him  and  began  rocking  him  asleep 


LIVING  OR  DEAD?  211 

again,  he  awoke  and  embraced  her.  "  Did  you  die, 
Auntie?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  darling." 

"  And  you  have  come  back?     Do  not  die  again." 

Before  she  could  answer  disaster  overtook  her. 
One  of  the  maidservants  coming  in  with  a  cup  of 
sago  dropped  it,  and  fell  down.  At  the  crash  the 
mistress  left  her  cards,  and  entered  the  room.  She 
stood  like  a  pillar  of  wood,  unable  to  flee  or  speak. 
Seeing  all  this,  the  child,  too,  became  terrified,  and 
burst  out  weeping:  "Go  away,  Auntie,"  he  said, 
"  go  away!  " 

Now  at  last  Kadambini  understood  that  she  had 
not  died.  The  old  room,  the  old  things,  the  same 
child,  the  same  love,  all  returned  to  their  living 
state,  without  change  or  difference  between  her  and 
them.  In  her  friend's  house  she  had  felt  that  her 
childhood's  companion  was  dead.  In  her  child's 
room  she  knew  that  the  boy's  "  Auntie  "  was  not 
dead  at  all.  In  anguished  tones  she  said:  "Sis- 
ter, why  do  you  dread  me?  See,  I  am  as  you  knew 
me." 

Her  sister-in-law  could  endure  no  longer,  and  fell 
into  a  faint.  Saradasankar  himself  entered  the 


212  LIVING  OR  DEAD? 

zenana.  With  folded  hands,  he  said  piteously: 
"  Is  this  right?  Satis  is  my  only  son.  Why  do  you 
show  yourself  to  him?  Are  we  not  your  own  kin? 
Since  you  went,  he  has  wasted  away  daily;  his  fever 
has  been  incessant;  day  and  night  he  cries: 
'Auntie,  Auntie.'  You  have  left  the  world;  break 
these  bonds  of  maya.1  We  will  perform  all  funeral 
honours." 

Kadambini  could  bear  no  more.  She  said: 
"  Oh,  I  am  not  dead,  I  am  not  dead.  Oh,  how  can 
I  persuade  you  that  I  am  not  dead?  I  am  living, 
living!  "  She  lifted  a  brass  pot  from  the  ground 
and  dashed  it  against  her  forehead.  The  blood  ran 
from  her  brow.  "Look!"  she  cried,  "I  am  liv- 
ing!" Saradasankar  stood  like  an  image;  the 
child  screamed  with  fear,  the  two  fainting  women 
lay  still. 

Then  Kadambini,  shouting  "  I  am  not  dead,  I  am 
not  dead,"  went  down  the  steps  to  the  zenana  well, 
and  plunged  in.  From  the  upper  storey  Sarada- 
sankar heard  the  splash. 

All  night  the  rain  poured;  it  poured  next  day  at 
dawn,  was  pouring  still  at  noon.  By  dying,  Kadam- 
bini had  given  proof  that  she  was  not  dead. 

1  Illusory  affection  binding  a  soul  to  the  world. 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING 


'  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING ' 

WHEN  Nabendu  Sekhar  was  wedded  to  Arunlekha, 
the  God  of  marriage  smiled  from  behind  the  sacri- 
ficial fire.  Alas!  what  is  sport  for  the  gods  is  not 

«— ~-_i ^___  _   ° 

always  a  joke  to  us  poor  mortals. 

Purnendu  Sekhar,  the  father  of  Nabendu,  was  a 
man  well  known  amongst  the  English  officials  of  the 
Government.  In  the  voyage  of  life  he  had  arrived 
at  the  desert  shores  of  Rai  Bahadurship  by  dili- 
gently plying  his  oars  of  salaams.  He  held  in  re- 
serve enough  for  further  advancement,  but  at  the 
age  of  fifty-five,  his  tender  gaze  still  fixed  on  the 
misty  peak  of  Raja-hood,  he  suddenly  found  himself 
transported  to  a  region  where  earthly  honours  and 
decorations  are  naught,  and  his  salaam-weaned  neck 
found  everlasting  repose  on  the  funeral  pyre. 

According  to  modern  science,  force  is  not  de- 
stroyed, but  is  merely  converted  to  another  form, 
and  applied  to  another  point.  So  Purnendu's  sa- 
laam-force, constant  handmaid  of  the  fickle  God- 
dess of  Fortune,  descended  from  the  shoulder  of  the 
father  to  that  of  his  worthy  son;  and  the  youthful 

215 


216         'WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

head  of  Nabendu  Sekhar  began  to  move  up  and 
down,  at  the  doors  of  high-placed  Englishmen,  like 
a  pumpkin  swayed  by  the  wind. 

The  traditions  of  the  family  into  which  he  had 
married  were  entirely  different.  Its  eldest  son, 
Pramathanath,  had  won  for  himself  the  love  of  his 
kinsfolk  and  the  regard  of  all  who  knew  him. 
His  kinsmen  and  his  neighbours  looked  up  to  him 
as  their  ideal  in  all  things. 

Pramathanath  was  a  Bachelor  of  Arts,  and  in  ad- 
dition was  gifted  with  common  sense.  But  he  held 
no  high  official  position;  he  had  no  handsome  sal- 
ary; nor  did  he  exert  any  influence  with  his  pen. 
There  was  no  one  in  power  to  lend  him  a  helping 
hand,  because  he  desired  to  keep  away  from  Eng- 
lishmen, as  much  as  they  desired  to  keep  away  from 
him.  So  it  happened  that  he  shone  only  within  the 
sphere  of  his  family  and  his  friends,  and  excited  no 
admiration  beyond  it. 

Yet  this  Pramathanath  had  once  sojourned  in 
England  for  some  three  years.  The  kindly  treat- 
ment he  received  during  his  stay  there  overpowered 
him  so  much  that  he  forgot  the  sorrow  and  the  hu- 
miliation of  his  own  country,  and  came  back  dressed 
in  European  clothes.  This  rather  grieved  his 


'WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        217 

brothers  and  his  sisters  at  first,  but  after  a  few  days 
they  began  to  think  that  European  clothes  suited  no- 
body better,  and  gradually  they  came  to  share  his 
pride  and  dignity. 

On  his  return  from  England,  Pramathanath  re- 
solved that  he  would  show  the  world  how  to  asso- 
ciate with  Anglo-Indians  on  terms  of  equality. 
Those  of  our  countrymen  who  think  that  no  such  as- 
sociation is  possible,  unless  we  bend  our  knees  to 
them,  showed  their  utter  lack  of  self-respect,  and 
were  also  unjust  to  the  English  —  so  thought  Pra- 
mathanath. 

He  brought  with  him  letters  of  introduction  from 
many  distinguished  Englishmen  at  home,  and  these 
gave  him  some  recognition  in  Anglo-Indian  society. 
He  and  his  wife  occasionally  enjoyed  English  hos- 
pitality at  tea,  dinner,  sports  and  other  entertain- 
ments. Such  good  luck  intoxicated  him,  and  began 
to  produce  a  tingling  sensation  in  every  vein  of  his 
body. 

About  this  time,  at  the  opening  of  a  new  railway 
line,  many  of  the  town,  proud  recipients  of  official 
favour,  were  invited  by  the  Lieutenant-Governor  to 
take  the  first  trip.  Pramathanath  was  among 
them.  On  the  return  journey,  a  European  Sergeant 


218        "WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

of  the  Police  expelled  some  Indian  gentlemen  from 
a  railway-carriage  with  great  insolence.  Pramath- 
anath,  dressed  in  his  European  clothes,  was  there. 
He,  too,  was  getting  out,  when  the  Sergeant  said: 
"  You  needn't  move,  sir.  Keep  your  seat,  please." 

At  first  Pramathanath  felt  flattered  at  the  spe- 
cial respect  thus  shown  to  him.  When,  however, 
the  train  went  on,  the  dull  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  at 
the  west  of  the  fields,  now  ploughed  up  and  stripped 
of  green,  seemed  in  his  eyes  to  spread  a  glow  of 
shame  over  the  whole  country.  Sitting  near  the 
window  of  his  lonely  compartment,  he  seemed  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  down-cast  eyes  of  his  Mother- 
land, hidden  behind  the  trees.  As  Pramathanath 
sat  there,  lost  in  reverie,  burning  tears  flowed  down 
his  cheeks,  and  his  heart  burst  with  indignation. 

He  now  remembered  the  story  of  a  donkey  who 
was  drawing  the  chariot  of  an  idol  along  the  street. 
The  wayfarers  bowed  down  to  the  idol,  and  touched 
the  dusty  ground  with  their  foreheads.  The  fool- 
ish donkey  imagined  that  all  this  reverence  was  be- 
ing shown  to  him.  "  The  only  difference,"  said 
Pramathanath  to  himself,  "  between  the  donkey  and 
myself  is  this:  I  understand  to-day  that  the  respect 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        219 

I  receive  is  not  given  to  me  but  to  the  burden  on  my 
back." 

Arriving  home,  Pramathanath  called  together  all 
the  children  of  the  household,  and  lighting  a  big 
bonfire,  threw  all  his  European  clothes  into  it  one  by 
one.  The  children  danced  round  and  round  it,  and 
the  higher  the  flames  shot  up,  the  greater  was  their 
merriment.  After  that,  Pramathanath  gave  up 
his  sip  of  tea  and  bits  of  toast  in  Anglo-Indian 
houses,  and  once  again  sat  inaccessible  within  the  cas- 
tle of  his  house,  while  his  insulted  friends  went  about 
from  the  door  of  one  Englishman  to  that  of  another, 
bending  their  turbaned  heads  as  before. 

By  an  irony  of  fate,  poor  Nabendu  Sekhar  mar- 
ried the  second  daughter  of  this  house.  His  sis- 
ters-in-law were  well  educated  and  handsome.  Na- 
bendu considered  he  had  made  a  lucky  bargain. 
But  he  lost  no  time  in  trying  to  impress  on  the  fam- 
ily that  it  was  a  rare  bargain  on  their  side  also. 
As  if  by  mistake,  he  would  often  hand  to  his  sisters- 
in-law  sundry  letters  that  his  late  father  had  received 
from  Europeans.  And  when  the  cherry  lips  of  those 
young  ladies  smiled  sarcastically,  and  the  point  of 
a  shining  dagger  peeped  out  of  its  sheath  of  red 


220         'WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

velvet,  the  unfortunate  man  saw  his  folly,  and  re- 
gretted it. 

Labanyalekha,  the  eldest  sister,  surpassed  the 
rest  in  beauty  and  cleverness.  Finding  an  auspicious 
day,  she  put  on  the  mantel-shelf  of  Nabendu's  bed- 
room two  pairs  of  English  boots,  daubed  with  ver- 
milion, and  arranged  flowers,  sandal-paste,  incense 
and  a  couple  of  burning  candles  before  them  in  true 
ceremonial  fashion.  When  Nabendu  came  in,  the 
two  sisters-in-law  stood  on  either  side  of  him,  and 
said  with  mock  solemnity:  "Bow  down  to  your 
gods,  and  may  you  prosper  through  their  blessings." 

The  third  sister  Kiranlekha  spent  many  days  in 
embroidering  with  red  silk  one  hundred  common 
English  names  such  as  Jones,  Smith,  Brown,  Thom- 
son, etc.,  on  a  chadar.  When  it  was  ready,  she 
presented  this  namavvli 1  to  Nabendu  Sekhar  with 
great  ceremony. 

The  fourth,  Sasankalekha,  of  tender  age  and 
therefore  of  no  account,  said:  "  I  will  make  you  a 
string  of  beads,  brother,  with  which  to  tell  the  names 
of  your  gods  —  the  sahibs."  Her  sisters  reproved 
her,  saying:  ;'  Run  away,  you  saucy  girl." 

1  A  namavali  is  a  sheet  of  cloth  printed  all  over  with  the  names 
of  Hindu  gods  and  goddesses  and  worn  by  pious  Hindus  when 
engaged  in  devotional  exercises. 


'WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        221 

Feelings  of  shame  and  irritation  assailed  by 
turns  the  mind  of  Nabendu  Sekhar.  Still  he  could 
not  forego  the  company  of  his  sisters-in-law,  espe- 
cially as  the  eldest  one  was  beautiful.  Her  honey 
was  no  less  than  her  gall,  and  Nabendu's  mind 
tasted  at  once  the  sweetness  of  the  one  and  the  bit- 
terness of  the  other.  The  butterfly,  with  its  bruised 
wings,  buzzes  round  the  flower  in  blind  fury,  unable 
to  depart. 

The  society  of  his  sisters-in-law  so  much  infatu- 
ated him  that  at  last  Nabendu  began  to  disavow  his 
craving  for  European  favours.  When  he  went  to 
salaam  the  Burra  Sahib,  he  used  to  pretend  that  he 
was  going  to  listen  to  a  speech  by  Mr.  Surendranath 
Banerjea.  When  he  went  to  the  railway  station  to 
pay  respects  to  the  Chota  Sahib,  returning  from 
Darjeeling,  he  would  tell  his  sisters-in-law  that  he 
expected  his  youngest  uncle. 

It  was  a  sore  trial  to  the  unhappy  man  placed  be- 
tween the  cross-fires  of  his  Sahibs  and  his  sisters-in- 
law.  The  sisters-in-law,  however,  secretly  vowed 
that  they  would  not  rest  till  the  Sahibs  had  been  put 
to  rout. 

About  this  time  it  was  rumoured  that  Nabendu's 
name  would  be  included  in  the  forthcoming  list  of 


222        "  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  " 

Birthday  honours,  and  that  he  would  mount  the  first 
step  of  the  ladder  to  Paradise  by  becoming  a  Rai 
Bahadur.  The  poor  fellow  had  not  the  courage  to 
break  the  joyful  news  to  his  sisters-in-law.  One 
evening,  however,  when  the  autumn  moon  was  flood- 
ing the  earth  with  its  mischievous  beams,  Nabendu's 
heart  was  so  full  that  he  could  not  contain  himself 
any  longer,  and  he  told  his  wife.  The  next  day, 
Mrs.  Nabendu  betook  herself  to  her  eldest  sister's 
house  in  a  palanquin,  and  in  a  voice  choked  with 
tears  bewailed  her  lot. 

"  He  isn't  going  to  grow  a  tail,"  said  Labanya, 
"by  becoming  a  Rai  Bahadur,  is  he?  Why  should 
you  feel  so  very  humiliated?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sister  dear,"  replied  Arunlekha,  "  I  am 
prepared  to  be  anything  —  but  not  a  Rai-Baha- 
durwf/'  The  fact  was  that  in  her  circle  of  acquaint- 
ances there  was  one  Bhutnath  Babu,  who  was  a  Rai 
Bahadur,  and  that  explained  her  intense  aversion  to 
that  title. 

Labanya  said  to  her  sister  in  soothing  tones: 
"  Don't  be  upset  about  it,  dear;  I  will  see  what  I  can 
do  to  prevent  it." 

Babu  Nilratan,  the  husband  of  Labanya,  was  a 
pleader  at  Buxar.  When  the  autumn  was  over, 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        223 

Nabendu  received  an  invitation  from  Labanya  to  pay 
them  a  visit,  and  he  started  for  Buxar  greatly 
pleased. 

The  early  winter  of  the  western  province  en- 
dowed Labanyalekha  with  new  health  and  beauty, 
and  brought  a  glowing  colour  to  her  pale  cheeks. 
She  looked  like  the  flower-laden  kasa  reeds  on  a 
clear  autumn  day,  growing  by  the  lonely  bank  of  a 
rivulet.  To  Nabendu's  enchanted  eyes  she  ap- 
peared like  a  malatl  plant  in  full  blossom,  showering 
dew-drops  brilliant  with  the  morning  light. 

Nabendu  had  never  felt  better  in  his  life.  The 
exhilaration  of  his  own  health  and  the  genial  com- 
pany of  his  pretty  sister-in-law  made  him  think  him- 
self light  enough  to  tread  on  air.  The  Ganges  in 
front  of  the  garden  seemed  to  him  to  be  flowing 
ceaselessly  to  regions  unknown,  as  though  it  gave 
shape  to  his  own  wild  fantasies. 

As  he  returned  in  the  early  morning  from  his 
walk  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  the  mellow  rays  of 
the  winter  sun  gave  his  whole  frame  that  pleasing 
sensation  of  warmth  which  lovers  feel  in  each  other's 
arms.  Coming  home,  he  would  now  and  then  find 
his  sister-in-law  amusing  herself  by  cooking  some 
dishes.  He  would  offer  his  help,  and  display  his 


224        "  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  " 

want  of  skill  and  ignorance  at  every  step.  But 
Nabendu  did  not  appear  to  be  at  all  anxious  to  im- 
prove himself  by  practice  and  attention.  On  the 
contrary  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  rebukes  he  re- 
ceived from  his  sister-in-law.  He  was  at  great 
pains  to  prove  every  day  that  he  was  inefficient  and 
helpless  as  a  new-born  babe  in  mixing  spices,  han- 
dling the  saucepan,  and  regulating  the  heat  so  as  to 
prevent  things  getting  burnt  —  and  he  was  duly  re- 
warded with  pitiful  smiles  a-nd  scoldings. 

In  the  middle  of  the  day  he  ate  a  great  deal  of 
the  good  food  set  before  him,  incited  by  his  keen 
appetite  and  the  coaxing  of  his  sister-in-law.  Later 
on,  he  would  sit  down  to  a  game  of  cards  —  at 
which  he  betrayed  the  same  lack  of  ability.  He 
would  cheat,  pry  into  his  adversary's  hand,  quarrel 
—  but  never  did  he  win  a  single  rubber,  and  worse 
still,  he  would  not  acknowledge  defeat.  This 
brought  him  abuse  every  day,  and  still  he  remained 
incorrigible. 

There  was,  however,  one  matter  in  which  his  re- 
form was  complete.  For  the  time  at  least,  he  had 
forgotten  that  to  win  the  smiles  of  Sahibs  was  the 
final  goal  of  life.  He  was  beginning  to  understand 


\ 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        225 

how  happy  and  worthy  we  might  feel  by  winning 
the  affection  and  esteem  of  those  near  and  dear  to  us. 

Besides,  Nabendu  was  now  moving  in  a  new  at- 
mosphere. Labanya's  husband,  Babu  Nilratan,  a 
leader  of  the  bar,  was  reproached  by  many,  because 
he  refused  to  pay  his  respects  to  European  officials. 
To  all  such  reproaches  Nilratan  would  reply: 
"  No,  thank  you, —  if  they  are  not  polite  enough 
to  return  my  call,  then  the  politeness  I  offer  them  is 
a  loss  that  can  never  be  made  up  for.  The  sands 
of  the  desert  may  be  very  white  and  shiny,  but  I 
would  much  rather  sow  my  seeds  in  black  soil,  where 
I  can  expect  a  return." 

And  Nabendu  began  to  adopt  similar  ideas,  all 
regardless  of  the  future.  His  chance  of  Rai  Baha- 
durship  throve  on  the  soil  carefully  prepared  by  his 
late  father  and  also  by  himself  in  days  gone  by,  nor 
was  any  fresh  watering  required.  Had  he  not  at 
great  expense  laid  out  a  splendid  race-course  in 
a  town,  which  was  a  fashionable  resort  of  Euro- 
peans? 

When  the  time  of  Congress  drew  near,  Nilratan 
received  a  request  from  head-quarters  to  collect  sub- 
scriptions. Nabendu,  free  from  anxiety,  was  mer- 


226        "WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

rily  engaged  in  a  game  of  cards  with  his  sister-in- 
law,  when  Nilratan  Babu  came  upon  him  with  a 
subscription-book  in  his  hand,  and  said:  "Your 
signature,  please." 

From  old  habit  Nabendu  looked  horrified.  La- 
banya,  assuming  an  air  of  great  concern  and  anxiety, 
said :  "  Never  do  that.  It  would  ruin  your  race- 
course beyond  repair." 

Nabendu  blurted  out:  "  Do  you  suppose  I  pass 
sleepless  nights  through  fear  of  that?" 

"  We  won't  publish  your  name  in  the  papers," 
said  Nilratan  reassuringly. 

Labanya,  looking  grave  and  anxious,  said: 
"  Still,  it  wouldn't  be  safe.  Things  spread  so,  from 
mouth  to  mouth " 

Nabendu  replied  with  vehemence:  "My  name 
wouldn't  suffer  by  appearing  in  the  newspapers." 
So  saying,  he  snatched  the  subscription  list  from 
Nilratan's  hand,  and  signed  away  a  thousand  rupees. 
Secretly  he  hoped  that  the  papers  would  not  publish 
the  news. 

Labanya  struck  her  forehead  with  her  palm  and 
gasped  out:  "What  —  have  you  —  done?" 

"  Nothing  wrong,"  said  Nabendu  boastfully. 

"  But  —  but — ,"  drawled  Labanya,  "  the  Guard- 


sahib  of  Sealdah  Station,  the  shop-assistant  at  White- 
away's,  the  syce-sahib  of  Hart  Bros. —  these  gentle- 
men might  be  angry  with  you,  and  decline  to  come  to 
your  Poojah  dinner  to  drink  your  champagne,  you 
know.  Just  think,  they  mightn't  pat  you  on  the  back, 
when  you  meet  them  again !  " 

"  It  wouldn't  break  my  heart,"  Nabendu  snapped 
out. 

A  few  days  passed.  One  morning  Nabendu  was 
sipping  his  tea,  and  glancing  at  a  newspaper.  Sud- 
denly a  letter  signed  "  X  "  caught  his  eye.  The 
writer  thanked  him  profusely  for  his  donation,  and 
declared  that  the  increase  of  strength  the  Congress 
had  acquired  by  having  such  a  man  within  its  fold, 
was  inestimable. 

Alas,  father  Purnendu  Sekhar!  Was  it  to  in- 
crease the  strength  of  the  Congress,  that  you  brought 
this  wretch  into  the  world  ? 

But  the  cloud  of  misfortune  had  its  silver  lining. 
That  he  was  not  a  mere  cypher  was  clear  from  the 
fact  that  the  Anglo-Indian  community  on  the  one 
side  and  the  Congress  on  the  other  were  each  wait- 
ing patiently,  eager  to  hook  him,  and  land  him  on 
their  own  side.  So  Nabendu,  beaming  with  pleas- 
ure, took  the  paper  to  his  sister-in-law,  and  showed 


228        "  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  " 

her  the  letter.  Looking  as  though  she  knew  noth- 
ing about  it,  Labanya  exclaimed  in  surprise :  "  Oh, 
what  a  pity!  Everything  has  come  out!  Who 
bore  you  such  ill-will?  Oh,  how  cruel  of  him,  how 
wicked  of  him!  " 

Nabendu  laughed  out,  saying:  "  Now  —  now  — 
don't  call  him  names,  Labanya.  I  forgive  him  with 
all  my  heart,  and  bless  him  too." 

A  couple  of  days  after  this,  an  anti-Congress  An- 
glo-Indian paper  reached  Nabendu  through  the  post. 
There  was  a  letter  in  it,  signed  "  One  who  knows," 
and  contradicting  the  above  report.  "  Those  who 
have  the  pleasure  of  Babu  Nabendu  Sekhar's  per- 
sonal acquaintance,"  the  writer  went  on,  "  cannot 
for  a  moment  believe  this  absurd  libel  to  be  true. 
For  him  to  turn  a  Congresswalla  is  as  impossible  as 
it  is  for  the  leopard  to  change  his  spots.  He  is  a 
man  of  genuine  worth,  and  neither  a  disappointed 
candidate  for  Government  employ  nor  a  briefless 
barrister.  He  is  not  one  of  those  who,  after  a  brief 
sojourn  in  England,  return  aping  our  dress  and  man- 
ners, audaciously  try  to  thrust  themselves  on  Anglo- 
Indian  society,  and  finally  go  back  in  dejection.  So 
there  is  absolutely  no  reason  why  Babu  Nabendu 
Sekhar,"  etc.,  etc. 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        229 

Ah,  father  Purnendu  Sekhar!  What  a  reputa- 
tion you  had  made  with  the  Europeans  before  you 
died! 

This  letter  also  was  paraded  before  his  sister-in- 
law,  for  did  it  not  assert  that  he  was  no  mean,  con- 
temptible scallywag,  but  a  man  of  real  worth? 

Labanya  exclaimed  again  in  feigned  surprise: 
"  Which  of  your  friends  wrote  it  now?  Oh,  come 
—  is  it  the  Ticket  Collector,  or  the  hide  merchant, 
or  is  it  the  drum-major  of  the  Fort?  " 

"  You  ought  to  send  in  a  contradiction,  I  think," 
said  Nilratan. 

"Is  it  necessary?"  said  Nabendu  loftily. 
"  Must  I  contradict  every  little  thing  they  choose 
to  say  against  me?  " 

Labanya  filled  the  room  with  a  deluge  of  laugh- 
ter. Nabendu  felt  a  little  disconcerted  at  this,  and 
said:  "Why?  What's  the  matter?"  She  went 
on  laughing,  unable  to  check  herself,  and  her  youth- 
ful slender  form  waved  to  and  fro.  This  torrent  of 
merriment  had  the  effect  of  overthrowing  Nabendu 
completely,  and  he  said  in  pitiable  accents:  "Do 
you  imagine  that  I  am  afraid  to  contradict  it?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  said  Labanya;  "  I  was  thinking 
that  you  haven't  yet  ceased  trying  to  save  that  race- 


23o         •'  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  " 

course  of  yours,  so  full  of  promise.     While  there  is 
life,  there  is  hope,  you  know." 

'  That's  what  I  am  afraid  of,  you  think,  do  you? 
Very  well,  you  shall  see,"  said  Nabendu  desperately, 
and  forthwith  sat  down  to  write  his  contradiction. 
When  he  had  finished,  Labanya  and  Nilratan  read 
it  through,  and  said:  "It  isn't  strong  enough. 
We  must  give  it  them  pretty  hot,  mustn't  we?" 
And  they  kindly  undertook  to  revise  the  composi- 
tion. Thus  it  ran:  "When  one  connected  to  us 
by  ties  of  blood  turns  our  enemy  he  becomes  far 
more  dangerous  than  any  outsider.  To  the  Gov- 
ernment of  India,  the  haughty  Anglo-Indians  are 
worse  enemies  than  the  Russians  or  the  frontier 
Pathans  themselves  —  they  are  the  impenetrable 
barrier,  forever  hindering  the  growth  of  any  bond 
of  friendship  between  the  Government  and  people 
of  the  country.  It  is  the  Congress  which  has  opened 
up  the  royal  road  to  a  better  understanding  between 
the  rulers  and  the  ruled,  and  the  Anglo-Indian 
papers  have  planted  themselves  like  thorns  across 
the  whole  breadth  of  that  road,"  etc.,  etc. 

Nabendu  had  an  inward  fear  as  to  the  mischief 
this  letter  might  do,  but  at  the  same  time  he  felt 
elated  at  the  excellence  of  its  composition,  which  he 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        231 

fondly  imagined  to  be  his  own.  It  was  duly  pub- 
lished, and  for  some  days  comments,  replies,  and  re- 
joinders went  on  in  various  newspapers,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  trumpet-notes,  proclaiming  the  fact  that 
Nabendu  had  joined  the  Congress,  and  the  amount 
of  his  subscription. 

Nabendu,  now  grown  desperate,  talked  as  though 
he  was  a  patriot  of  the  fiercest  type.  Labanya 
laughed  inwardly,  and  said  to  herself:  "Well  — 
well  —  you  have  to  pass  through  the  ordeal  of  fire 
yet." 

One  morning  when  Nabendu,  before  his  bath,  had 
finished  rubbing  oil  over  his  chest,  and  was  trying 
various  devices  to  reach  the  inaccessible  portions  of 
his  back,  the  bearer  brought  in  a  card  inscribed 
with  the  name  of  the  District  Magistrate  himself! 
Good  heavens!  —  What  would  he  do?  He  could 
not  possibly  go,  and  receive  the  Magistrate  Sahib, 
thus  oil-besmeared.  He  shook  and  twitched  like  a 
&oz-fish,  ready  dressed  for  the  frying  pan.  He  fin- 
ished his  bath  in  a  great  hurry,  tugged  on  his  clothes 
somehow,  and  ran  breathlessly  to  the  outer  apart- 
ments. The  bearer  said  that  the  Sahib  had  just 
left  after  waiting  for  a  long  time.  How  much  of 
the  blame  for  concocting  this  drama  of  invented  in- 


232        "WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

cidents  may  be  set  down  to  Labanya,  and  how  much 
to  the  bearer  is  a  nice  problem  for  ethical  mathe- 
matics to  solve. 

Nabendu's  heart  was  convulsed  with  pain  within 
his  breast,  like  the  tail  of  a  lizard  just  cut  off.  He 
moped  like  an  owl  all  day  long. 

Labanya  banished  all  traces  of  inward  merriment 
from  her  face,  and  kept  on  enquiring  in  anxious 
tones:  "What  has  happened  to  you?  You  are 
not  ill,  I  hope?" 

Nabendu  made  great  efforts  to  smile,  and  find  a 
humorous  reply.  "  How  can  there  be,"  he  man- 
aged to  say,  "  any  illness  within  your  jurisdiction, 
since  you  yourself  are  the  Goddess  of  Health?  " 

But  the  smile  soon  flickered  out.  His  thoughts 
were:  "I  subscribed  to  the  Congress  fund  to  be- 
gin with,  published  a  nasty  letter  in  a  newspaper, 
and  on  the  top  of  that,  when  the  Magistrate  Sahib 
himself  did  me  the  honour  to  call  on  me,  I  kept  him 
waiting.  I  wonder  what  he  is  thinking  of  me." 

Alas,  father  Purnendu  Sekhar,  by  an  irony  of  Fate 
I  am  made  to  appear  what  I  am  not. 

The  next  morning,  Nabendu  decked  himself  in 
his  best  clothes,  wore  his  watch  and  chain,  and  put  a 
big  turban  on  his  head. 


'  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  "        233 

:' Where  are  you  off  to?"  enquired  his  sister-in- 
law. 

"  Urgent  business,"  Nabendu  replied.  Labanya 
kept  quiet. 

Arriving  at  the  Magistrate's  gate,  he  took  out  his 
card-case. 

'  You  cannot  see  him  now,"  said  the  orderly  peon 
icily. 

Nabendu  took  out  a  couple  of  rupees  from  his 
pocket.  The  peon  at  once  salaamed  him  and  said: 
"  There  are  five  of  us,  sir."  Immediately  Nabendu 
pulled  out  a  ten-rupee  note,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

He  was  sent  for  by  the  Magistrate,  who  was  writ- 
ing in  his  dressing-gown  and  bedroom  slippers.  Na- 
bendu salaamed  him.  The  Magistrate  pointed  to  a 
chair  with  his  finger,  and  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  the  paper  before  him  said:  "  What  can  I  do 
for  you,  Babu?  " 

Fingering  his  watch-chain  nervously,  Nabendu 
said  in  shaky  tones :  "  Yesterday  you  were  good 
enough  to  call  at  my  place,  sir " 

The  Sahib  knitted  his  brows,  and,  lifting  just  one 
eye  from  his  paper,  said:  "  I  called  at  your  place! 
Babu,  what  nonsense  are  you  talking?  " 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  faltered  out  Nabendu. 


234        "  WE  CROWN  THEE  KING  " 

"  There  has  been  a  mistake  —  some  confusion,"  and 
wet  with  perspiration,  he  tumbled  out  of  the  room 
somehow.  And  that  night,  as  he  lay  tossing  on  his 
bed,  a  distant  dream-like  voice  came  into  his  ear  with 
a  recurring  persistency:  "  Babu,  you  are  a  howl- 
ing idiot." 

On  his  way  home,  Nabendu  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Magistrate  denied  having  called,  sim- 
ply because  he  was  highly  offended. 

So  he  explained  to  Labanya  that  he  had  been  out 
purchasing  rose-water.  No  sooner  had  he  uttered 
the  words  than  half-a-dozen  chuprassis  wearing  the 
Collectorate  badge  made  their  appearance,  and  after 
salaaming  Nabendu,  stood  there  grinning. 

"  Have  they  come  to  arrest  you  because  you  sub- 
scribed to  the  Congress  fund?"  whispered  Labanya 
with  a  smile. 

The  six  peons  displayed  a  dozen  rows  of  teeth 
and  said:  "Bakshish  —  Babu-Sahib." 

From  a  side  room  Nilratan  came  out,  and  said  in 
an  irritated  manner:  "Bakshish?  What  for?  " 

The  peons,  grinning  as  before,  answered:  '  The 
Babu-Sahib  went  to  see  the  Magistrate  —  so  we  have 
come  for  bakshish." 

"  I   didn't  know,"  laughed  out  Labanya,   "  that 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        235 

the  Magistrate  was  selling  rose-water  nowadays. 
Coolness  wasn't  the  special  feature  of  his  trade  be- 
fore." 

Nabendu  in  trying  to  reconcile  the  story  of  his 
purchase  with  his  visit  to  the  Magistrate,  uttered 
some  incoherent  words,  which  nobody  could  make 
sense  of. 

Nilratan  spoke  to  the  peons :  "  There  has  been 
no  occasion  for  bakshish;  you  shan't  have  it." 

Nabendu  said,  feeling  very  small:  "Oh,  they 
are  poor  men  —  what's  the  harm  of  giving  them 
something?"  And  he  took  out  a  currency  note. 
Nilratan  snatched  it  way  from  Nabendu's  hand,  re- 
marking: '  There  are  poorer  men  in  the  world  — 
I  will  give  it  to  them  for  you." 

Nabendu  felt  greatly  distressed  that  he  was  not 
able  to  appease  these  ghostly  retainers  of  the  angry 
Siva.  When  the  peons  were  leaving,  with  thunder 
in  their  eyes,  he  looked  at  them  languishingly,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "You  know  everything,  gentle- 
men, it  is  not  my  fault." 

The  Congress  was  to  be  held  at  Calcutta  this  year. 
Nilratan  went  down  thither  with  his  wife  to  attend 
the  sittings.  Nabendu  accompanied  them. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  at  Calcutta,  the  Congress 


236         'WE  CROWN  THEE  KING" 

party  surrounded  Nabendu,  and  their  delight  and 
enthusiasm  knew  no  bounds.  They  cheered  him, 
honoured  him,  and  extolled  him  up  to  the  skies. 
Everybody  said  that,  unless  leading  men  like  Na- 
bendu devoted  themselves  to  the  Cause,  there  was 
no  hope  for  the  country.  Nabendu  was  disposed  to 
agree  with  them,  and  emerged  out  of  the  chaos  of 
mistake  and  confusion  as  a  leader  of  the  country. 
When  he  entered  the  Congress  Pavilion  on  the  first 
day,  everybody  stood  up,  and  shouted  "  Hip,  hip, 
hurrah,"  in  a  loud  outlandish  voice,  hearing  which 
our  Motherland  reddened  with  shame  to  the  root 
of  her  ears. 

In  due  time  the  Queen's  birthday  came,  and 
Nabendu's  name  was  not  found  in  the  list  of  Rai 
Bahadurs. 

He  received  an  invitation  from  Labanya  for  that 
evening.  When  he  arrived  there,  Labanya  with 
great  pomp  and  ceremony  presented  him  with  a  robe 
of  honour,  and  with  her  own  hand  put  a  mark  of 
red  sandal  paste  on  the  middle  of  his  forehead. 
Each  of  the  other  sisters  threw  round  his  neck  a 
garland  of  flowers  woven  by  herself.  Decked  in  a 
pink  Sari  and  dazzling  jewels,  his  wife  Arunlekha 
was  waiting  in  a  side  room,  her  face  lit  up  with 


"WE  CROWN  THEE  KING"        237 

smiles  and  blushes.  Her  sisters  rushed  to  her,  and, 
placing  another  garland  in  her  hand,  insisted  that 
she  also  should  come,  and  do  her  part  in  the  cere- 
mony, but  she  would  not  listen  to  it;  and  that  prin- 
cipal garland,  cherishing  a  desire  for  Nabendu's 
neck,  waited  patiently  for  the  still  secrecy  of  mid- 
night. 

The  sisters  said  to  Nabendu  :  "  To-day  we  crown 
thee  King.  Such  honour  will  not  be  done  to  any- 
body else  in  Hindoostan." 

Whether  Nabendu  derived  any  consolation  from 
this,  he  alone  can  tell;  but  we  greatly  doubt  it.  We 
believe,  in  fact,  that  he  will  become  a  Rai  Bahadur 
before  he  has  done,  and  the  Englishman  and  the 
Pioneer  will  write  heart-rending  articles  lamenting 
his  demise  at  the  proper  time.  So,  in  the  meanwhile, 
Three  Cheers  for  Babu  Purnendu  Sekhar!  Hip, 
hip,  hurrah  —  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  —  Hip,  hip,  hurrah. 


THE  RENUNCIATION 


THE  RENUNCIATION 

i 

IT  was  a  night  of  full  moon  early  in  the  month  of 
Phalgun.  The  youthful  spring  was  everywhere 
sending  forth  its  breeze  laden  with  the  fragrance  of 
mango-blossoms.  The  melodious  notes  of  an  un- 
tiring papiya,1  concealed  within  the  thick  foliage  of 
an  old  lichi  tree  by  the  side  of  a  tank,  penetrated 
a  sleepless  bedroom  of  the  Mukerji  family.  There 
Hemanta  now  restlessly  twisted  a  lock  of  his  wife's 
hair  round  his  finger,  now  beat  her  churi  against  her 
wristlet  until  it  tinkled,  now  pulled  at  the  chaplet  of 
flowers  about  her  head,  and  left  it  hanging  over  her 
face.  His  mood  was  that  of  an  evening  breeze 
which  played  about  a  favourite  flowering  shrub, 
gently  shaking  her  now  this  side,  now  that,  in  the 
hope  of  rousing  her  to  animation. 

But   Kusum   sat  motionless,   looking  out   of  the 
open  window,  with  eyes  immersed  in  the  moonlit 

1  One  of  the  sweetest  songsters  in  Bengal.     Anglo-Indian  writers 
have  nicknamed  it  the  "  brain-fever  bird,"  which  is  a  sheer  libel. 

241 


242  THE  RENUNCIATION 

depth  of  never-ending  space  beyond.  Her  hus- 
band's caresses  were  lost  on  her. 

At  last  Hemanta  clasped  both  the  hands  of  his 
wife,  and,  shaking  them  gently,  said:  "  Kusum, 
where  are  you  ?  A  patient  search  through  a  big  tele- 
scope would  reveal  you  only  as  a  small  speck  —  you 
seem  to  have  receded  so  far  away.  O,  do  come 
closer  to  me,  dear.  See  how  beautiful  the  night 
is." 

Kusum  turned  her  eyes  from  the  void  of  space 
towards  her  husband,  and  said  slowly:  "  I  know  a 
mantra*  which  could  in  one  moment  shatter  this 
spring  night  and  the  moon  into  pieces." 

"  If  you  do,"  laughed  Hemanta,  "  pray  don't 
utter  it.  If  any  mantra  of  yours  could  bring  three 
or  four  Saturdays  during  the  week,  and  prolong 
the  nights  till  5  P.  M.  the  next  day,  say  it  by  all 
means." 

Saying  this,  he  tried  to  draw  his  wife  a  little 
closer  to  him.  Kusum,  freeing  herself  from  the  em- 
brace, said:  "  Do  you  know,  to-night  I  feel  a  long- 
ing to  tell  you  what  I  promised  to  reveal  only  on  my 
death-bed.  To-night  I  feel  that  I  could  endure 
whatever  punishment  you  might  inflict  on  me." 

1 A  set  of  magic  words. 


THE  RENUNCIATION  243 

Hemanta  was  on  the  point  of  making  a  jest  about 
punishments  by  reciting  a  verse  from  Jayadeva, 
when  the  sound  of  an  angry  pair  of  slippers  was 
heard  approaching  rapidly.  They  were  the  famil- 
iar footsteps  of  his  father,  Harihar  Mukerji,  and 
Hemanta,  not  knowing  what  it  meant,  was  in  a  flut- 
ter of  excitement. 

Standing  outside  the  door  Harihar  roared  out: 
"  Hemanta,  turn  your  wife  out  of  the  house  imme- 
diately." 

Hemanta  looked  at  his  wife,  and  detected  no 
trace  of  surprise  in  her  features.  She  merely  buried 
her  face  within  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and,  with  all 
the  strength  and  intensity  of  her  soul,  wished  that 
she  could  then  and  there  melt  into  nothingness.  It 
was  the  same  papiya  whose  song  floated  into  the 
room  with  the  south  breeze,  and  no  one  heard  it. 
Endless  are  the  beauties  of  the  earth  —  but  alas, 
how  easily  everything  is  twisted  out  of  shape. 

II 

Returning  from  without,  Hemanta  asked  his  wife : 
"Is  it  true?" 

"  It  is,"  replied  Kusum. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  long  ago?  " 


244  THE  RENUNCIATION 

"  I  did  try  many  a  time,  and  I  always  failed.  I 
am  a  wretched  woman." 

"  Then  tell  me  everything  now." 

Kusum  gravely  told  her  story  in  a  firm  unshaken 
voice.  She  waded  barefooted  through  fire,  as  it 
were,  with  slow  unflinching  steps,  and  nobody  knew 
how  much  she  was  scorched.  Having  heard  her  to 
the  end,  Hemanta  rose  and  walked  out. 

Kusum  thought  that  her  husband  had  gone,  never 
to  return  to  her  again.  It  did  not  strike  her  as 
strange.  She  took  it  as  naturally  as  any  other  inci- 
dent of  everyday  life  —  so  dry  and  apathetic  had 
her  mind  become  during  the  last  few  moments. 
Only  the  world  and  love  seemed  to  her  as  a  void 
and  make-believe  from  beginning  to  end.  Even  the 
memory  of  the  protestations  of  love,  which  her  hus- 
band had  made  to  her  in  days  past,  brought  to  her 
lips  a  dry,  hard,  joyless  smile,  like  a  sharp  cruel 
knife  which  had  cut  through  her  heart.  She  was 
thinking,  perhaps,  that  the  love  which  seemed  to  fill 
so  much  of  one's  life,  which  brought  in  its  train  such 
fondness  and  depth  of  feeling,  which  made  even  the 
briefest  separation  so  exquisitely  painful  and  a  mo- 
ment's union  so  intensely  sweet,  which  seemed  bound- 
less in  its  extent  and  eternal  in  its  duration,  the  ces- 


THE  RENUNCIATION  245 

sation  of  which  could  not  be  imagined  even  in  births 
to  come  —  that  this  was  that  love !  So  feeble  was 
its  support!  No  sooner  does  the  priesthood  touch 
it  than  your  "  eternal "  love  crumbles  into  a  hand- 
ful of  dust !  Only  a  short  while  ago  Hemanta  had 
whispered  to  her:  "What  a  beautiful  night!" 
The  same  night  was  not  yet  at  an  end,  the  same 
papiya  was  still  warbling,  the  same  south  breeze  still 
blew  into  the  room,  making  the  bed-curtain  shiver; 
the  same  moonlight  lay  on  the  bed  next  the  open 
window,  sleeping  like  a  beautiful  heroine  exhausted 
with  gaiety.  All  this  was  unreal !  Love  was  more 
falsely  dissembling  than  she  herself ! 

in 

The  next  morning  Hemanta,  fagged  after  a  sleep- 
less night,  and  looking  like  one  distracted,  called  at 
the  house  of  Peari  Sankar  Ghosal.  "  What  news, 
my  son?  "  Peari  Sankar  greeted  him. 

Hemanta,  flaring  up  like  a  big  fire,  said  in  a 
trembling  voice:  "You  have  defiled  our  caste. 
You  have  brought  destruction  upon  us.  And  you 
will  have  to  pay  for  it."  He  could  say  no  more; 
he  felt  choked. 

"  And  you  have  preserved  my  caste,   prevented 


246  THE  RENUNCIATION 

my  ostracism  from  the  community,  and  patted  me  on 
the  back  affectionately !  "  said  Peari  Sankar  with  a 
slight  sarcastic  smile. 

Hemanta  wished  that  his  Brahmin-fury  could  re- 
duce Peari  Sankar  to  ashes  in  a  moment,  but  his  rage 
burnt  only  himself.  Peari  Sankar  sat  before  him 
unscathed,  and  in  the  best  of  health. 

"Did  I  ever  do  you  any  harm?"  demanded 
Hemanta  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  Let  me  ask  you  one  question,"  said  Peari  San- 
kar. "  My  daughter  —  my  only  child  —  what 
harm  had  she  done  your  father?  You  were  very 
young  then,  and  probably  never  heard.  Listen, 
then.  Now,  don't  you  excite  yourself.  There  is 
much  humour  in  what  I  am  going  to  relate. 

"  You  were  quite  small  when  my  son-in-law  Na- 
bakanta  ran  away  to  England  after  stealing  my 
daughter's  jewels.  You  might  truly  remember  the 
commotion  in  the  village  when  he  returned  as  a  bar- 
rister five  years  later.  Or,  perhaps,  you  were  un- 
aware of  it,  as  you  were  at  school  in  Calcutta  at  the 
time.  Your  father,  arrogating  to  himself  the  head- 
ship of  the  community,  declared  that  if  I  sent  my 
daughter  to  her  husband's  home,  I  must  renounce 
her  for  good,  and  never  again  allow  her  to  cross 


THE  RENUNCIATION  247 

my  threshold.  I  fell  at  your  father's  feet,  and  im- 
plored him,  saying:  '  Brother,  save  me  this  once. 
I  will  make  the  boy  swallow  cow-dung,  and  go 
through  the  pray  as  chit  tarn  ceremony.  Do  take  him 
back  into  caste.'  But  your  father  remained  obdu- 
rate. For  my  part,  I  could  not  disown  my  only 
child,  and,  bidding  good-bye  to  my  village  and  my 
kinsmen,  I  betook  myself  to  Calcutta.  There,  too, 
my  troubles  followed  me.  When  I  had  made  every 
arrangement  for  my  nephew's  marriage,  your  father 
stirred  up  the  girl's  people,  and  they  broke  the  match 
off.  Then  I  took  a  solemn  vow  that,  if  there  was 
a  drop  of  Brahmin  blood  flowing  in  my  veins,  I  would 
avenge  myself.  You  understand  the  business  to 
some  extent  now,  don't  you?  But  wait  a  little 
longer.  You  will  enjoy  it,  when  I  tell  you  the  whole 
story;  it  is  interesting. 

"  When  you  were  attending  college,  one  Bipradas 
Chatterji  used  to  live  next  door  to  your  lodgings. 
The  poor  fellow  is  dead  now.  In  his  house  lived 
a  child-widow  called  Kusum,  the  destitute  orphan  of 
a  Kayestha  gentleman.  The  girl  was  very  pretty, 
and  the  old  Brahmin  desired  to  shield  her  from  the 
hungry  gaze  of  college  students.  But  for  a  young 
girl  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  her  old  guardian 


248  THE  RENUNCIATION 

was  not  at  all  a  difficult  task.  She  often  went  to 
the  top  of  the  roof,  to  hang  her  washing  out  to  dry, 
and,  I  believe,  you  found  your  own  roof  best  suited 
for  your  studies.  Whether  you  two  spoke  to  each 
other,  when  on  your  respective  roofs,  I  cannot  tell, 
but  the  girl's  behaviour  excited  suspicion  in  the  old 
man's  mind.  She  made  frequent  mistakes  in  her 
household  duties,  and,  like  Parbati,1  engaged  in  her 
devotions,  began  gradually  to  renounce  food  and 
sleep.  Some  evenings  she  would  burst  into  tears 
in  the  presence  of  the  old  gentleman,  without  any 
apparent  reason. 

"  At  last  he  discovered  that  you  two  saw  each 
other  from  the  roofs  pretty  frequently,  and  that 
you  even  went  the  length  of  absenting  yourself 
from  college  to  sit  on  the  roof  at  mid-day  with  a 
book  in  your  hand,  so  fond  had  you  grown  suddenly 
of  solitary  study.  Bipradas  came  to  me  for  advice, 
and  told  me  everything.  '  Uncle,'  said  I  to  him, 
4  for  a  long  while  you  have  cherished  a  desire  to  go 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Benares.  You  had  better  do  it 
now,  and  leave  the  girl  in  my  charge.  I  will  take 
care  of  her.' 

"  So  he  went.     I  lodged  the  girl  in  the  house  of 

1  The  wife  of  Shiva  the  Destroyer. 


THE  RENUNCIATION  249 

Sripati  Chatterji,  passing  him  off  as  her  father. 
What  happened  next  is  known  to  you.  I  feel  a  great 
relief  to-day,  having  told  you  everything  from  the 
beginning.  It  sounds  like  a  romance,  doesn't  it?  I 
think  of  turning  it  into  a  book,  and  getting  it  printed. 
But  I  am  not  a  writing-man  myself.  They  say  my 
nephew  has  some  aptitude  that  way  —  I  will  get  him 
to  write  it  for  me.  But  the  best  thing  would  be, 
if  you  would  collaborate  with  him,  because  the  con- 
clusion of  the  story  is  not  known  to  me  so  well." 

Without  paying  much  attention  to  the  concluding 
remarks  of  Pearl  Sankar,  Hemanta  asked:  "Did 
not  Kusum  object  to  this  marriage?" 

"  Well,"  said  Pearl  Sankar,  "  it  is  very  difficult 
to  guess.  You  know,  my  boy,  how  women's  minds 
are  constituted.  When  they  say  '  no,'  they  mean 
'  yes.'  During  the  first  few  days  after  her  removal 
to  the  new  home,  she  went  almost  crazy  at  not  seeing 
you.  You,  too,  seemed  to  have  discovered  her  new 
address  somehow,  as  you  used  to  lose  your  way  after 
starting  for  college,  and  loiter  about  in  front  of 
Sripati's  house.  Your  eyes  did  not  appear  to  be 
exactly  in  search  of  the  Presidency  College,  as  they 
were  directed  towards  the  barred  windows  of  a  pri- 
vate house,  through  which  nothing  but  insects  and 


250  THE  RENUNCIATION 

the  hearts  of  moon-struck  young  men  could  obtain 
access.  I  felt  very  sorry  for  you  both.  I  could 
see  that  your  studies  were  being  seriously  inter- 
rupted, and  that  the  plight  of  the  girl  was  pitiable 
also. 

"  One  day  I  called  Kusum  to  me,  and  said:  '  Lis- 
ten to  me,  my  daughter.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  you 
need  feel  no  delicacy  in  my  presence.  I  know  whom 
you  desire  at  heart.  The  young  man's  condition  is 
hopeless  too.  I  wish  I  could  bring  about  your 
union.'  At  this  Kusum  suddenly  melted  into  tears, 
and  ran  away.  On  several  evenings  after  that,  I 
visited  Sripati's  house,  and,  calling  Kusum  to  me, 
discussed  with  her  matters  relating  to  you,  and  so 
I  succeeded  in  gradually  overcoming  her  shyness. 
At  last,  when  I  said  that  I  would  try  to  bring  about 
a  marriage,  she  asked  me:  'How  can  it  be?' 
*  Never  mind,'  I  said,  '  I  would  pass  you  off  as  a 
Brahmin  maiden.'  After  a  good  deal  of  argument, 
she  begged  me  to  find  out  whether  you  would  ap- 
prove of  it.  '  What  nonsense,'  replied  I,  '  the  boy 
is  well-nigh  mad  as  it  were,  what's  the  use  of  dis- 
closing all  these  complications  to  him?  Let  the 
ceremony  be  over  smoothly  and  then  —  all's  well 
that  ends  well.  Especially,  as  there  is  not  the  slight- 


THE  RENUNCIATION  251 

est  risk  of  its  ever  leaking  out,  why  go  out  of  the 
way  to  make  a  fellow  miserable  for  life?  ' 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  the  plan  had  Kusum's 
assent  or  not.  At  times  she  wept,  and  at  other 
times  she  remained  silent.  If  I  said,  '  Let  us  drop 
it  then,'  she  would  become  very  restless.  When 
things  were  in  this  state,  I  sent  Sripati  to  you  with 
the  proposal  of  marriage;  you  consented  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  Everything  was  settled. 

"  Shortly  before  the  day  fixed,  Kusum  became  so 
obstinate  that  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  bring- 
ing her  round  again.  '  Do  let  it  drop,  uncle,'  she 
said  to  me  constantly.  '  What  do  you  mean,  you 
silly  child,'  I  rebuked  her,  '  how  can  we  back  out 
now,  when  everything  has  been  settled?  ' 

"  '  Spread  a  rumour  that  I  am  dead,'  she  im- 
plored. '  Send  me  away  somewhere.' 

"  '  What  would  happen  to  the  young  man  then?  ' 
said  I.  '  He  is  now  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  de- 
light, expecting  that  his  long  cherished  desire  would 
be  fulfilled  to-morrow;  and  to-day  you  want  me  to 
send  him  the  news  of  your  death.  The  result  would 
be  that  to-morrow  I  should  have  to  bear  the  news 
of  his  death  to  you,  and  the  same  evening  your  death 
would  be  reported  to  me.  Do  you  imagine,  child, 


252  THE  RENUNCIATION 

that  I  am  capable  of  committing  a  girl-murder  and 
a  Brahmin-murder  at  my  age?  ' 

"  Eventually  the  happy  marriage  was  celebrated 
at  the  auspicious  moment,  and  I  felt  relieved  of  a 
burdensome  duty  which  I  owed  to  myself.  What 
happened  afterwards  you  know  best." 

"  Couldn't  you  stop  after  having  done  us  an  ir- 
reparable injury?  "  burst  out  Hemanta  after  a  short 
silence.  "  Why  have  you  told  the  secret  now?  " 

With  the  utmost  composure,  Peari  Sankar  re- 
plied: "When  I  saw  that  all  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  the  wedding  of  your  sister,  I  said 
to  myself:  'Well,  I  have  fouled  the  caste  of  one 
Brahmin,  but  that  was  only  from  a  sense  of  duty. 
Here,  another  Brahmin's  caste  is  imperilled,  and 
this  time  it  is  my  plain  duty  to  prevent  it.'  So  I 
wrote  to  them  saying  that  I  was  in  a  position  to 
prove  that  you  had  taken  the  daughter  of  a  sudra 
to  wife." 

Controlling  himself  with  a  gigantic  effort, 
Hemanta  said:  "What  will  become  of  this  girl 
whom  I  shall  abandon  now?  Would  you  give  her 
food  and  shelter?  " 

"  I   have   done  what  was  mine  to  do,"   replied 


THE  RENUNCIATION  253 

Pearl  Sankar  calmly.  "  It  is  no  part  of  my  duty 
to  look  after  the  discarded  wives  of  other  people. 
Anybody  there?  Get  a  glass  of  cocoanut  milk  for 
Hemanta  Babu  with  ice  in  it.  And  some  -pan  too." 
Hemanta  rose,  and  took  his  departure  without 
waiting  for  this  luxurious  hospitality. 

IV 

It  was  the  fifth  night  of  the  waning  of  the  moon 
—  and  the  night  was  dark.  No  birds  were  singing. 
The  lichi  tree  by  the  tank  looked  like  a  smudge  of 
ink  on  a  background  a  shade  less  deep.  The  south 
wind  was  blindly  roaming  about  in  the  darkness  like 
a  sleep-walker.  The  stars  in  the  sky  with  vigilant 
unblinking  eyes  were  trying  to  penetrate  the  dark- 
ness, in  their  effort  to  fathom  some  profound  mys- 
tery. 

No  light  shone  in  the  bedroom.  Hemanta  was 
sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed  next  the  open  window, 
gazing  at  the  darkness  in  front  of  him.  Kusum  lay 
on  the  floor,  clasping  her  husband's  feet  with  both 
her  arms,  and  her  face  resting  on  them.  Time  stood 
like  an  ocean  hushed  into  stillness.  On  the  back- 
ground of  eternal  night,  Fate  seemed  to  have 


254  THE  RENUNCIATION 

painted  this  one  single  picture  for  all  time  —  an- 
nihilation on  every  side,  the  judge  in  the  centre  of 
it,  and  the  guilty  one  at  his  feet. 

The  sound  of  slippers  was  heard  again.  Ap- 
proaching the  door,  Harihar  Mukerji  said:  "  You 
have  had  enough  time, —  I  can't  allow  you  more. 
Turn  the  girl  out  of  the  house." 

Kusum,  as  she  heard  this,  embraced  her  husband's 
feet  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  lifetime,  covered  them 
with  kisses,  and  touching  her  forehead  to  them  rev- 
erentially, withdrew  herself. 

Hemanta  rose,  and  walking  to  the  door,  said: 
"  Father,  I  won't  forsake  my  wife." 

"  What!  "  roared  out  Harihar,  "  would  you  lose 
your  caste,  sir?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  caste,"  was  Hemanta's  calm 
reply. 

"  Then  you  too  I  renounce." 


THE  CABULIWALLAH 
(THE  FRUITSELLER  FROM  CABUL) 


THE  CABULIWALLAH 

MY  five  years'  old  daughter  Mini  cannot  live  with- 
out chattering.  I  really  believe  that  in  all  her  life 
she  has  not  wasted  a  minute  in  silence.  Her  mother 
is  often  vexed  at  this,  and  would  stop  her  prattle, 
but  I  would  not.  To  see  Mini  quiet  is  unnatural, 
and  I  cannot  bear  it  long.  And  so  my  own  talk 
with  her  is  always  lively. 

One  morning,  for  instance,  when  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  seventeenth  chapter  of  my  new  novel, 
my  little  Mini  stole  into  the  room,  and  putting  her 
hand  into  mine,  said:  "Father!  Ramdayal  the 
door-keeper  calls  a  crow  a  krow !  He  doesn't  know 
anything,  does  he?  " 

Before  I  could  explain  to  her  the  differences  of 
language  in  this  world,  she  was  embarked  on  the 
full  tide  of  another  subject.  "What  do  you  think, 
Father?  Bhola  says  there  is  an  elephant  in  the 
clouds,  blowing  water  out  of  his  trunk,  and  that  is 
why  it  rains!  " 

And  then,  darting  off  anew,  while  I  sat  still  mak- 

257 


25  8  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

ing  ready  some  reply  to  this  last  saying,  "  Father! 
what  relation  is  Mother  to  you?  " 

"  My  dear  little  sister  in  the  law!  "  I  murmured 
involuntarily  to  myself,  but  with  a  grave  face  con- 
trived to  answer:  "  Go  and  play  with  Bhola,  Mini ! 
I  am  busy!  " 

The  window  of  my  room  overlooks  the  road. 
The  child  had  seated  herself  at  my  feet  near  my 
table,  and  was  playing  softly,  drumming  on  her 
knees.  I  was  hard  at  work  on  my  seventeenth  chap- 
ter, where  Protrap  Singh,  the  hero,  had  just  caught 
Kanchanlata,  the  heroine,  in  his  arms,  and  was  about 
to  escape  with  her  by  the  third  story  window  of  the 
castle,  when  all  of  a  sudden  Mini  left  her  play,  and 
ran  to  the  window,  crying,  "  A  Cabuliwallah !  a 
Cabuliwallah !  "  Sure  enough  in  the  street  below 
was  a  Cabuliwallah,  passing  slowly  along.  He  wore 
the  loose  soiled  clothing  of  his  people,  with  a  tall 
turban;  there  was  a  bag  on  his  back,  and  he  carried 
boxes  of  grapes  in  his  hand. 

I  cannot  tell  what  were  my  daughter's  feelings 
at  the  sight  of  this  man,  but  she  began  to  call  him 
loudly.  "Ah!  "  I  thought,  "he  will  come  in,  and 
my  seventeenth  chapter  will  never  be  finished !  "  At 
which  exact  moment  the  Cabuliwallah  turned,  and 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  259 

looked  up  at  the  child.  When  she  saw  this,  over- 
come by  terror,  she  fled  to  her  mother's  protection, 
and  disappeared.  She  had  a  blind  belief  that  in- 
side the  bag,  which  the  big  man  carried,  there  were 
perhaps  two  or  three  other  children  like  herself. 
The  pedlar  meanwhile  entered  my  doorway,  and 
greeted  me  with  a  smiling  face. 

So  precarious  was  the  position  of  my  hero  and 
my  heroine,  that  my  first  impulse  was  to  stop  and 
buy  something,  since  the  man  had  been  called.  I 
made  some  small  purchases,  and  a  conversation  be- 
gan about  Abdurrahman,  the  Russians,  the  Eng- 
lish, and  the  Frontier  Policy. 

As  he  was  about  to  leave,  he  asked:  "And 
where  is  the  little  girl,  sir?  " 

And  I,  thinking  that  Mini  must  get  rid  of  her 
false  fear,  had  her  brought  out. 

She  stood  by  my  chair,  and  looked  at  the 
Cabuliwallah  and  his  bag.  He  offered  her  nuts 
and  raisins,  but  she  would  not  be  tempted,  and  only 
clung  the  closer  to  me,  with  all  her  doubts  increased. 

This  was  their  first  meeting. 

One  morning,  however,  not  many  days  later,  as 
I  was  leaving  the  house,  I  was  startled  to  find  Mini, 
seated  on  a  bench  near  the  door,  laughing  and  talk- 


260  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

ing,  with  the  great  Cabuliwallah  at  her  feet.  In  all 
her  life,  it  appeared,  my  small  daughter  had  never 
found  so  patient  a  listener,  save  her  father,  And 
already  the  corner  of  her  little  sari  was  stuffed  with 
almonds  and  raisins,  the  gift  of  her  visitor.  "  Why 
did  you  give  her  those?  "  I  said,  and  taking  out  an 
eight-anna  bit,  I  handed  it  to  him.  The  man  ac- 
cepted the  money  without  demur,  and  slipped  it  into 
his  pocket. 

Alas,  on  my  return  an  hour  later,  I  found  the  un- 
fortunate coin  had  made  twice  its  own  worth  of 
trouble !  For  the  Cabuliwallah  had  given  it  to 
Mini,  and  her  mother  catching  sight  of  the  bright 
round  object,  had  pounced  on  the  child  with: 
"  Where  did  you  get  that  eight-anna  bit?  " 

"  The  Cabuliwallah  gave  it  me,"  said  Mini 
cheerfully. 

"  The  Cabuliwallah  gave  it  you ! "  cried  her 
mother  much  shocked.  "  Oh,  Mini !  how  could  you 
take  it  from  him?  " 

I,  entering  at  the  moment,  saved  her  from  im- 
pending disaster,  and  proceeded  to  make  my  own 
inquiries. 

It  was  not  the  first  or  second  time,  I  found,  that 
the  two  had  met.  The  Cabuliwallah  had  overcome 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  261 

the  child's  first  terror  by  a  judicious  bribery  of  nuts 
and  almonds,  and  the  two  were  now  great  friends. 

They  had  many  quaint  jokes,  which  afforded  them 
much  amusement.  Seated  in  front  of  him,  looking 
down  on  his  gigantic  frame  in  all  her  tiny  dignity, 
Mini  would  ripple  her  face  with  laughter,  and  be- 
gin: "O  Cabuliwallah,  Cabuliwallah,  what  have 
you  got  in  your  bag?  " 

And  he  would  reply,  in  the  nasal  accents  of  the 
mountaineer:  "An  elephant!"  Not  much  cause 
for  merriment,  perhaps;  but  how  they  both  enjoyed 
the  witticism!  And  for  me,  this  child's  talk  with 
a  grown-up  man  had  always  in  it  something  strangely 
fascinating. 

Then  the  Cabuliwallah,  not  to  be  behindhand, 
would  take  his  turn:  "Well,  little  one,  and  when 
are  you  going  to  the  father-in-law's  house?  " 

Now  most  small  Bengali  maidens  have  heard  long 
ago  about  the  father-in-law's  house;  but  we,  being 
a  little  new-fangled,  had  kept  these  things  from  our 
child,  and  Mini  at  this  question  must  have  been  a 
trifle  bewildered.  But  she  would  not  show  it,  and 
with  ready  tact  replied:  "  Are  you  going  there?  " 

Amongst  men  of  the  Cabuliwallah's  class,  how- 
ever, it  is  well  known  that  the  words  father-in-law's 


262  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

house  have  a  double  meaning.  It  is  a  euphemism 
for  jail,  the  place  where  we  are  well  cared  for,  at 
no  expense  to  ourselves.  In  this  sense  would  the 
sturdy  pedlar  take  my  daughter's  question.  "  Ah," 
he  would  say,  shaking  his  fist  at  an  invisible  police- 
man, "  I  will  thrash  my  father-in-law!  "  Hearing 
this,  and  picturing  the  poor  discomfited  relative, 
Mini  would  go  off  into  peals  of  laughter,  in  which 
her  formidable  friend  would  join. 

These  were  autumn  mornings,  the  very  time  of 
year  when  kings  of  old  went  forth  to  conquest;  and 
I,  never  stirring  from  my  little  corner  in  Calcutta, 
would  let  my  mind  wander  over  the  whole  world. 
At  the  very  name  of  another  country,  my  heart  would 
go  out  to  it,  and  at  the  sight  of  a  foreigner  in  the 
streets,  I  would  fall  to  weaving  a  network  of  dreams, 
—  the  mountains,  the  glens,  and  the  forests  of  his 
distant  home,  with  his  cottage-  in  its  setting,  and  the 
free  and  independent  life  of  far-away  wilds.  Per- 
haps the  scenes  of  travel  conjure  themselves  up  be- 
fore me,  and  pass  and  repass  in  my  imagination  all 
the  more  vividly,  because  I  lead  such  a  vegetable  ex- 
istence, that  a  call  to  travel  would  fall  upon  me  like  a 
thunderbolt.  In  the  presence  of  this  Cabuliwallah, 
I  was  immediately  transported  to  the  foot  of  arid 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  263 

mountain  peaks,  with  narrow  little  defiles  twisting 
in  and  out  amongst  their  towering  heights.  I  could 
see  the  string  of  camels  bearing  the  merchandise, 
and  the  company  of  turbaned  merchants,  carrying 
some  of  their  queer  old  firearms,  and  some  of  their 
spears,  journeying  downward  towards  the  plains. 
I  could  see  —  but  at  some  such  point  Mini's  mother 
would  intervene,  imploring  me  to-  "  beware  of  that 


man." 


Mini's  mother  is  unfortunately  a  very  timid  lady. 
Whenever  she  hears  a  noise  in  the  street,  or  sees 
people  coming  towards  the  house,  she  always  jumps 
to  the  conclusion  that  they  are  either  thieves,  or 
drunkards,  or  snakes,  or  tigers,  or  malaria  or  cock- 
roaches, or  caterpillars,  or  an  English  sailor.  Even 
after  all  these  years  of  experience,  she  is  not  able 
to  overcome  her  terror.  So  she  was  full  of  doubts 
about  the  Cabuliwallah,  and  used  to  beg  me  to  keep 
a  watchful  eye  on  him. 

I  tried  to  laugh  her  fear  gently  away,  but  then 
she  would  turn  round  on  me  seriously,  and  ask  me 
solemn  questions. 

Were  children  never  kidnapped? 

Was  it,  then,  not  true  that  there  was  slavery  in 
Cabul? 


264  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

Was  it  so  very  absurd  that  this  big  man  should 
be  able  to  carry  off  a  tiny  child? 

I  urged  that,  though  not  impossible,  it  was  highly 
improbable.  But  this  was  not  enough,  and  her 
dread  persisted.  As  it  was  indefinite,  however,  it 
did  not  seem  right  to  forbid  the  man  the  house,  and 
the  intimacy  went  on  unchecked. 

Once  a  year  in  the  middle  of  January  Rahmun, 
the  Cabuliwallah,  was  in  the  habit  of  returning  to 
his  country,  and  as  the  time  approached  he  would 
be  very  busy,  going  from  house  to  house  collecting 
his  debts.  This  year,  however,  he  could  always  find 
time  to  come  and  see  Mini.  It  would  have  seemed 
to  an  outsider  that  there  was  some  conspiracy  be- 
tween the  two,  for  when  he  could  not  come  in  the 
morning,  he  would  appear  in  the  evening. 

Even  to  me  it  was  a  little  startling  now  and  then, 
in  the  corner  of  a  dark  room,  suddenly  to  surprise 
this  tall,  loose-garmented,  much  bebagged  man;  but 
when  Mini  would  run  in  smiling,  with  her,  "  0 1 
Cabuliwallah!  Cabuliwallah!"  and  the  two 
friends,  so  far  apart  in  age,  would  subside  into  their 
old  laughter"  and  their  old  jokes,  I  felt  reassured. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  before  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  go,  I  was  correcting  my  proof  sheets 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  265 

in  my  study.  It  was  chilly  weather.  Through  the 
window  the  rays  of  the  sun  touched  my  feet,  and  the 
slight  warmth  was  very  welcome.  It  was  almost 
eight  o'clock,  and  the  early  pedestrians  were  return- 
ing home,  with  their  heads  covered.  All  at  once, 
I  heard  an  uproar  in  the  street,  and,  looking  out, 
saw  Rahmun  being  led  away  bound  between  two 
policemen,  and  behind  them  a  crowd  of  curious  boys. 
There  were  blood-stains  on  the  clothes  of  the 
Cabuliwallah,  and  one  of  the  policemen  carried  a 
knife.  Hurrying  out,  I  stopped  them,  and  enquired 
what  it  all  meant.  Partly  from  one,  partly  from 
another,  I  gathered  that  a  certain  neighbour  had 
owed  the  pedlar  something  for  a  Rampuri  shawl, 
but  had  falsely  denied  having  bought  it,  and  that  in 
the  course  of  the  quarrel,  Rahmun  had  struck  him. 
Now  in  the  heat  of  his  excitement,  the  prisoner  be- 
gan calling  his  enemy  all  sorts  of  names,  when  sud- 
denly in  a  verandah  of  my  house  appeared  my  little 
Mini,  with  her  usual  exclamation:  "O  Cabuliwal- 
lah! Cabuliwallah!  "  Rahmun's  face  lighted  up 
as  he  turned  to  her.  He  had  no  bag  under  his  arm 
to-day,  so  she  could  not  discuss  the  elephant  with 
him.  She  at  once  therefore  proceeded  to  the  next 
question:  "Are  you  going  to  the  father-in-law's 


266  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

house?"  Rahmun  laughed  and  said:  'Just 
where  I  am  going,  little  one !  "  Then  seeing  that 
the  reply  did  not  amuse  the  child,  he  held  up  his  fet- 
tered hands.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  would  have 
thrashed  that  old  father-in-law,  but  my  hands  are 
bound!" 

On  a  charge  of  murderous  assault,  Rahmun  was 
sentenced  to  some  years'  imprisonment. 

Time  passed  away,  and  he  was  not  remembered. 
The  accustomed  work  in  the  accustome.d  place  was 
ours,  and  the  thought  of  the  cmce-free  mountaineer 
spending  his  years  in  prison  seldom  or  never  occurred 
to  us.  Even  my  light-hearted  Mini,  I  am  ashamed 
to  say,  forgot  her  old  friend.  New  companions 
filled  her  life.  As  she  grew  older,  she  spent  more 
of  her  time  with  girls.  So  much  time  indeed  did  she 
spend  with  them  that  she  came  no  more,  as  she  used 
to  do,  to  her  father's  room.  I  was  scarcely  on  speak- 
ing terms  with  her. 

Years  had  passed  away.  It  was  once  more 
autumn  and  we  had  made  arrangements  for  our 
Mini's  marriage.  It  was  to  take  place  during  the 
Puja  Holidays.  With  Durga  returning  to  Kailas, 
the  light  of  our  home  also  was  to  depart  to  her 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  267 

husband's  house,  and  leave  her  father's  in  the 
shadow. 

The  morning  was  bright.  After  the  rains,  there 
was  a  sense  of  ablution  in  the  air,  and  the  sun-rays 
looked  like  pure  gold.  So  bright  were  they  that 
they  gave  a  beautiful  radiance  even  to  the  sordid 
brick  walls  of  our  Calcutta  lanes.  Since  early  dawn 
to-day  the  wedding-pipes  had  been  sounding,  and  at 
each  beat  my  own  heart  throbbed.  The  wail  of  the 
tune,  Bhairavi,  seemed  to  intensify  my  pain  at  the 
approaching  separation.  My  Mini  was  to  be  mar- 
ried to-night. 

From  early  morning  noise  and  bustle  had  per- 
vaded the  house.  In  the  courtyard  the  canopy  had 
to  be  slung  on  its  bamboo  poles ;  the  chandeliers  with 
their  tinkling  sound  must  be  hung  in  each  room  and 
verandah.  There  was  no  end  of  hurry  and  excite- 
ment. I  was  sitting  in  my  study,  looking  through 
the  accounts,  when  some  one  entered,  saluting  re- 
spectfully, and  stood  before  me.  It  was  Rahmun 
the  Cabuliwallah.  At  first  I  did  not  recognise  him. 
He  had  no  bag,  nor  the  long  hair,  nor  the  same  vig- 
our that  he  used  to  have.  But  he  smiled,  and  I 
knew  him  again. 


268  THE  CABULIWALLAH 

"When  did  you  come,  Rahmun?"  I  asked 
him. 

"  Last  evening,"  he  said,  "  I  was  released  from 
jail." 

The  words  struck  harsh  upon  my  ears.  I  had 
never  before  talked  with  one  who  had  wounded  his 
fellow,  and  my  heart  shrank  within  itself,  when  I 
realised  this,  for  I  felt  that  the  day  would  have  been 
better-omened  had  he  not  turned  up. 

"  There  are  ceremonies  going  on,"  I  said,  "  and 
I  am  busy.  Could  you  perhaps  come  another  day?  " 

At  once  he  turned  to  go ;  but  as  he  reached  the 
door  he  hesitated,  and  said:  "  May  I  not  see  the 
little  one,  sir,  for  a  moment?"  It  was  his  belief 
that  Mini  was  still  the  same.  He  had  pictured  her 
running  to  him  as  she  used,  calling  "  O  Cabuliwallah ! 
Cabuliwallah !  "  He  had  imagined  too  that  they 
would  laugh  and  talk  together,  just  as  of  old.  In 
fact,  in  memory  of  former  days  he  had  brought, 
carefully  wrapped  up  in  paper,  a  few  almonds  and 
raisins  and  grapes,  obtained  somehow  from  a  coun- 
tryman, for  his  own  little  fund  was  dispersed. 

I  said  again :  "  There  is  a  ceremony  in  the  house, 
and  you  will  not  be  able  to  see  any  one  to-day." 

The  man's  face  fell.     He  looked  wistfully  at  me 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  269 

for  a  moment,  said  "  Good  morning,"  and  went  out. 

I  felt  a  little  sorry,  and  would  have  called  him 
back,  but  I  found  he  was  returning  of  his  own  ac- 
cord. He  came  close  up  to  me  holding  out  his  of- 
ferings and  said:  "  I  brought  these  few  things,  sir, 
for  the  little  one.  Will  you  give  them  to  her?  " 

I  took  them  and  was  going  to  pay  him,  but  he 
caught  my  hand  and  said:  "You  are  very  kind, 
sir !  Keep  me  in  your  recollection.  Do  not  offer 
me  money !  —  You  have  a  little  girl,  I  too  have  one 
like  her  in  my  own  home.  I  think  of  her,  and  bring 
fruits  to  your  child,  not  to  make  a  profit  for  my- 
self." 

Saying  this,  he  put  his  hand  inside  his  big  loose 
robe,  and  brought  out  a  small  and  dirty  piece  of 
paper.  With  great  care  he  unfolded  this,  and 
smoothed  it  out  with  both  hands  on  my  table.  It 
bore  the  impression  of  a  little  hand.  Not  a  photo- 
graph. Not  a  drawing.  The  impression  of  an  ink- 
smeared  hand  laid  flat  on  the  paper.  This  touch 
of  his  own  little  daughter  had  been  always  on  his 
heart,  as  he  had  come  year  after  year  to  Calcutta, 
to  sell  his  wares  in  the  streets. 

Tears  came  to  my  eyes.  I  forgot  that  he  was 
a  poor  Cabuli  fruit-seller,  while  I  was  —  but  no, 


2 70  THE  CABULI WALLAH 

what  was  I  more  than  he?     He  also  was  a  father. 

That  impression  of  the  hand  of  his  little  Pdrbati 
in  her  distant  mountain  home  reminded  me  of  my 
own  little  Mini. 

I  sent  for  Mini  immediately  from  the  inner  apart- 
ment. Many  difficulties  were  raised,  but  I  would 
not  listen.  Clad  in  the  red  silk  of  her  wedding-day, 
with  the  sandal  paste  on  her  forehead,  and  adorned 
as  a  young  bride,  Mini  came,  and  stood  bashfully 
before  me. 

The  Cabuliwallah  looked  a  little  staggered  at  the 
apparition.  He  could  not  revive  their  old  friend- 
ship. At  last  he  smiled  and  said:  "Little  one, 
are  you  going  to  your  father-in-law's  house?" 

But  Mini  now  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
word  "  father-in-law,"  and  she  could  not  reply  to 
him  as  of  old.  She  flushed  up  at  the  question,  and 
stood  before  him  with  her  bride-like  face  turned 
down. 

I  remembered  the  day  when  the  Cabuliwallah  and 
my  Mini  had  first  met,  and  I  felt  sad.  When  she 
had  gone,  Rahmun  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  sat  down 
on  the  floor.  The  idea  had  suddenly  come  to  him 
that  his  daughter  too  must  have  grown  in  this  long 
time,  and  that  he  would  have  to  make  friends  with 


THE  CABULIWALLAH  271 

her  anew.  Assuredly  he  would  not  find  her,  as  he 
used  to  know  her.  And  besides,  what  might  not 
have  happened  to  her  in  these  eight  years? 

The  marriage-pipes  sounded,  and  the  mild  autumn 
sun  streamed  round  us.  But  Rahmun  sat  in  the  little 
Calcutta  lane,  and  saw  before  him  the  barren  moun- 
tains of  Afghanistan. 

I  took  out  a  bank-note,  and  gave  it  to  him,  say- 
ing: "  Go  back  to  your  own  daughter,  Rahmun, 
in  your  own  country,  and  may  the  happiness  of  your 
meeting  bring  good  fortune  to  my  child!  " 

Having  made  this  present,  I  had  to  curtail  some 
of  the  festivities.  I  could  not  have  the  electric 
lights  I  had  intended,  nor  the  military  band,  and  the 
ladies  of  the  house  were  despondent  at  it.  But  to 
me  the  wedding  feast  was  all  the  brighter  for  the 
thought  that  in  a  distant  land  a  long-lost  father  met 
again  with  his  only  child. 


THE  END 


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